This One Time, At Band Camp
by DankeGott9
Summary: Sherlock- Au- Johnlock- Teenlock?. John, an Junior trumpet player thinks that his week at band camp is going to be torture. That is until he discovered an overly confident violinist on the ride. Sherlock makes his week more than brilliant and John discovers what he dare calls a friend. Mentions of previous JimLock and MorMor. Slight M-Rated material in later chapters. Will be more!
1. Bus Ride- Sunday

'Only a week," John thought to himself, ignoring the dull roar of noise on the parked bus. It was like this every year. Loud, before they even started moving. With a sigh, he placed his head back on the sticky seat and placed in an earphone, deciding it'd be best to appear like a loner until they actually arrived to camp.  
John opened his eyes to see a group of students out of the bus window that he didn't recognize. He raised his eyebrows curiously, even though he didn't know everyone in the band by name, he at least knew their faces, which concluded these children were indeed not form band. He took a closer look at their instrument cases and noticed that they were carrying string instruments. Ah, yes, the orchestra was to come to camp as well this year. He gave a small laugh before looking around and adjusting his baggage. He noticed that there were few open seats left on the bus, his being one of them.

The student sat back in his seat again. The orchestra students were the only ones left to be boarded, so that meant that he was more than likely going to have to sit next to one. He inwardly cringed at the though, the orchestra- band relationship wasn't the best, when was it ever? The orchestra kids were stuck up and they always seemed to play very, very flat. John had to admit, his band mates weren't always the most pleasant of people, but at least they knew how to play in tune.

Sherlock sighed and slid a hand in his pocket, the other calming his curls. He half listened to the teacher talk, half played with the ball of lint in his pocket, due to it being much more interesting. Once the annoying hum of the teacher's voice was gone, he picked up his instrument, violin, and carried it by his side to the bus. He was a bit bummed about having to spend a week at band camp- seeing that band kids weren't the most enjoyable to be around, especially on a two hour bus ride. He took a step onto the bus, the smell of annoying teenagers and swear hitting him like a brick wall, causing his nose to crinkle as he walked down the aisle to find an empty seat about half way down, placing his instrument down. "May I?" He asked, though he was already seated.

John felt the seat shift next to him and he turned to find a rather tall student sitting beside him. He eyed the case at their feet, oh great, a violinist. Just his luck, he was stuck next to a /violinist/, he mid as well be placed next to a flutist. "I'd rather you didn't, but I guess that's not going to get you to move." He muttered under his breath, giving the other a bit of an annoyed look. "Why do you string pansies even bother coming up to camp? As far as I can tell you're not going to be doing anything that you can't here."  
Sherlock scowled, disregarding the insult and retorting back. "Just my luck being put next to a trumpet, also," His green eyes flicked across the other man.  
John, being the teenager he was, scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean? And how do you know that I play trumpet? For all you know I could be a tube or a saxophone." His voice rising in pitch at the end.

Sherlock shifted in his seat so that his torso was facing John as well, "Please, you're such a terrible liar. You have oil and grease stains on your pants, matched with the bruising of your lips you're obviously a brass player. The bruise is too small to be a trombone or bigger, and too big to be a French horn. Of course there's the possibility that you play a melaphone, with a trumpet mouth piece, but your attitude is more than enough to tell me you're a cocky trumpet. If I had to say, I'd say you play first trumpet music as well. The violinist pulled his lips up in a smug smirk as he watched the other react to what he just said.

John stared and allowed himself to blink a few times, his mouth a bit a jar. He wanted to snap back about Sherlock profiling him. Everyone always assumed he was a saxophone player due to his loner tendencies. Without thinking John opened his mouth. "That was brilliant," He smiled slightly but let it quickly fade. "I'm John." He said hastily, turning his head to look out the window.

The curly haired teenager turned his torso so that he faced the seat in front of him once more. He bent down towards his violin case, unzipping an outside pocket and fished out his sheet music and a pen. He scribbled ties into the music and grace notes when he saw fit. Without looking up from what he was doing and answered John, "I know. Sherlock Holmes, I'm currently a junior and if I'm correct, which I'm almost always am, you are too." In a flourish of frustration he scribbled out a whole phrase of music. "This composer must have been dropped on his head as a child, this music is obviously amateur."

John rested his chin on his hand and watched as the city slowly faded and turned into country, turning his head slightly to look at Sherlock. "I'd like to say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'm scared if I said that your ego would eat you alive." John gave a slight smirk and played with the hem of his jumper sleeve, looking over the taller male's side to see his sheet music. "Looks rather boring. No accents or crescendos, how do you live with music like that?" Poor John didn't understand that dynamics were always added last. "Are you a bloody mind reader or something?"

Sherlock couldn't help but to chuckle at the other's comment. "Please, my ego is only big because it deserves to be so. Look at that, I sound like your every day trumpeter at the moment." He shuffled through his music sheets, the notes all appearing dull and predictable; a soft subtle beginning, the swelling middle, and then a retardando combined with a decrescendo to give the illusion of fading away. It was just too predictable, he'd played the same style time and time again and he was tired of it. "No, I'm not a mind reader; I would hope that you don't believe that, even if you're an idiot. I'm simply observant, it's just most people don't take the bloody time to do so." With a huff he balled a sheet of music and threw it out the slightly open window of the bus. "I swear the amount of idiots and amateurs is stunning."

John frowned slightly. "Right." Was all he said as he turned back to look out the window, he was trying not to snap. "You know," He started, "Just because I'm a trumpet doesn't make me stupid, I'm actually pretty smart, ta." That was really the only time he let his accent bleed through, pouting slightly. He felt out smarted, and though he hated it, he found the other's intelligence /brilliant/.

The violinist unfazed by John snapping at him responded just as he would any other time. "Nearly everyone is stupid. Unlike you I don't judge intelligence on what instrument one plays. I judge one's intelligence through observation and minimal conversation." He scoffed turning to look over at John. "Most people are idiots though; I would say all the teacher's in our school haven't the slightest idea what they lecture about every day. You know what they say, 'Those who can't do, teach,' And it's very apparent that the people here in America do not do at all, I've yet to meet anyone whom interest me enough to actually hold a proper conversation." Sherlock sighed, running his fingers through his curly hair. "You should see some of the people that I have to interact with while I'm at work. It's absolutely dreadful."

John scowled, turning his shoulders to look at the other, realizing he had an accent and talked badly about America. "You're not from here are you?" The blond questioned, pulling out his cell phone, seeing they had about an hour left of their ride, time flies when you're having fun right? "You? With a job? I'd love to see the list of people you piss off a day," John snickered and slid this phone back into his pocket, ignoring a few texts.

"Of course I'm not from here, I would assume that that much would be blatantly obvious, especially with my accent," He looked at the time over John's shoulder, "Is your relationship with your older brother tense?"

He looked past John, to the passing lavender fields. He accessed his mental map that he had memorized with the intention of knowing where he was going to be staying for a week, "Oh I tend not to bother people, I do have enough self-control so that I could keep my job. I would absolutely hate to be out of a home. Actually, now that I think about it, for some off reason quite a bit of girls constantly come in when I'm the barista, I don't see why though. It's odd,"

John scrunched up his face at the comment, tightening his lips into a line. "So where from?" He moved his phone out of the other's view, back into his pocket. He didn't like talking about his family, but oddly he felt he could talk to the other. "My sister makes some stupid decisions, things are tense," He couldn't help, but to laugh softly at the thought of Sherlock in a barista outfit, "Maybe they want you to make their ears bleed with your violin," John chuckled and rested his head against the window, eyes closing as he thought about how thankful he was to get a week from home.

"London," Sherlock stated simply, not giving any more details, "What about you? Baskerville? You sound northern," He took out his own cell phone to check the time, it was almost three P.M, they should be arriving soon, at least according to the itinerary that he had formed prior to leaving. Travel time being an approximate two hours and having left at one.

"Loads of people make stupid decisions, but I suppose that I can understand the tension," Sherlock thought of his own older brother and their rocky relationship, "It's definitely all conditional. Now wait a moment, but my violin playing is more than exceptional. You must be mistaking the cause of the ear injury with your bloody trumpet squealing. I swear, you can't claim that you can play a note if you never play it in tune,"

John laughed softly and shook his head, "Small town, about an hour from Baskerville, close enough to hear the stories," The male looked over to Sherlock, really looking over him for the first time, taking in his long cheek bones and oddly tamed hair with miraculous curls. His deduction skills weren't the only thing about the man that was brilliant. "Hey I play first trumpet, I sound bloody good," He scoffed and looked out at the passing cars, "What cabin are you in?" He darted his eyes to the other, trying to do the same to him as he'd done to John. "Oh, and London's beautiful, bit busy, and crime filled, but nice I guess," The blond chuckled and tapped _The Thieving Magpie Overture_ on his thigh, seeing as how it was what was playing in his headphones.

The violinist scoffed, "Just because you play first trumpet it doesn't equate to 'bloody good'. I could play third music if I wanted, but that doesn't mean I have little ability. Besides, I've heard the band playing before, it actually hurt to hear it. Do you even know what tuning and blending is?" He scrunched his nose at the memory, "I must admit though, anything is better than having to listen to a clarinet player. Oh and I'm in White Pine by the way,"

John scoffed and rolled his eyes, annoyed. He could barely hear Sherlock over the roar of the bus, though he retorted back, "Excuse you, I'm very good at my instrument," He scoffed, and mimicked some trumpet fingerings as he nodded, suddenly showing off a half smile, "That's my cabin too."

The dull murmur of the bus had grown a bit louder as the rest of the students had realized how close to the camp they were. Looking out the window, one could see that the road had turned to simple gravel and the amount of greenery and trees had grown. Sherlock had bent down to pick up his case so it would be ready in his hand when the bus would stop. When he was sitting up straight again he found himself looking at the face of a student with short black hair that was slicked back.

"So Johnny boy, found yourself a boyfriend?" He taunted in an off putting sing-song voice.

"Shouldn't you be off kicking puppies or something Jim?" The blond scowled at him, before returning his gaze back to Sherlock as Jim began to speak again.

"That's not until four I'm afraid," the black haired male gave an innocent smile and patted the trumpet player's head, causing John to scowl. "And looks like your boyfriend and you will be cabin mates with yours truly," His voice was still sing-songy.

"He's not my boyfriend," John mumbled,"

Sherlock sent a glare towards the short haired male, "Moriarty, perhaps you should check your testosterone levels, your voice is unnaturally high, even for you. Perhaps the karma that I don't believe in has finally caught up to you,"

Moriarty chuckled, blowing a small bubble in his chewing gum before he responded, "Oh please Sherly," He reached out a hand to caress the mentioned boy's face, earning an annoyed eye twitch, "If I already knew that I could pass the test easily then why should I waste my energy actually taking it?"

"You shouldn't flatter yourself. If it weren't for me you'd still be in the tenth grade. You're lucky that I didn't report you," The curly haired male gripped the other's wrist, pushing it away from his face.

John laughed slightly, Moriarty always had a rather high voice though people at the school were too scared to tease him about it, seeing as Jim could be rather scandalous. John's face scrunched up when Moriarty touched Sherlock, not that he cared. Psh. Though he did find himself a bit curious about the test that they were talking of. John looked over at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow in question, figuring that was enough for the other to catch onto his clueless curiosity.

"Boys please, not here," John finally intervened, placing a hand lightly on both of their chests with a scowl, he didn't want them to cause a scene on the bus, especially considering how close to camp they were.

Moriarty chuckled, shrugging off both Sherlock and John before sliding back into his seat. Sherlock huffed and slumped back in his seat, glancing over at John, "You seem confused, do you not know of Jim and I?'

"Honestly I have heard of you before, but I've never… indulged in your company until today," The blond answered before hesitantly adding, "Are you two blokes… together?"

The curly haired teen scrunched his nose at the thought, "No, relationships aren't really my department, and especially not with James," He cleared his throat before continuing, "Him and I are both skipping our sophomore year, we took a test on the last week of school to finalize it,"

John's face scrunched up as James sat back into his seat, turning back to Sherlock with a rather dumb founded face. John had attempted the test, but his grade had fallen terribly short, so Sherlock and Jim must be geniuses to manage to skip a grade, it was impressive honestly.

The blond laughed softly at how disturbed Sherlock seemed at the thought of James and him together. "Bloody Hell, you're only 15?" John's face paled, he's be 18 in December and Sherlock towered over him with height and intelligence! He held back a pout like face as he tuned to glance out the window and saw the camp in the distance. Sally Donavin could be heard laughing from the back of the bus, causing him to sigh. He didn't exactly have the best relationship with the people in the back of the bus. He shook the thought out of his head and turned back to Sherlock, "Maybe that's why you're so bad with people," John chuckled, teasing the other.

"Please, if I so chose to I could be a very good people pleaser, it's just that I don't care enough to do so all the time. And, actually I'm 16 going on 17, I started school late." Sherlock followed the other's gaze out the window. The bus was slowing down, eventually pulling to a stop in the small parking lot. The taller male stood up, violin case in hand, "I suppose this is where we get ff. I suppose it was a pleasure to meet you," After a moment of thought he quietly added, "Nicer than when most people meet me," With that he started down the narrow aisle, shoving a few people on the way.

John collapsed in his cabin, choosing the closest bottom bunk and letting his suit case and bag fall beside him on the floor. Two of his cabin mates had beaten him to their temporary home and chose a bunk next to his. Greg Lestrade, who was drum major this year was on bottom, and Samson Anderson, a rather terrible clarinet player, found himself on the top. John ignored the chattering between them, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them to find Sherlock standing over him, causing the blond to jump.

"Top bunk. Now," Sherlock uttered, waiting for the other to move. When John stayed where he was Sherlock repeated himself, this time adding, "I know you can hear me, get up."

"Why should I? I'm your senior, you should do what I say, and there are three other bottom bunks for you to choose from," John retorted, too tired from the bus ride up to even move into a sitting position.

"If age had anything to do with who had to listen to who then we would all have to obey the every whim of the elderly, imagine a world like that. Now get up or you'll never hear the end of it," The curly haired teen stated, dropping his luggage to the ground, kicking it under the bed.

With an exasperated sigh, John stood up and crawled up to the top bunk. Once he was collapsed onto the upper mattress the door opened once more, revealing an annoyingly gleeful Moriarty prancing in with a much calmer Sebastian behind him. Sherlock spread out his bed sheets before taking out his music sheets from earlier to look over.

"My, won't _this_ be interesting?" James said in his sing-song voice, wiggling his eyebrows as he looked around the room.

John huffed from the top bunk, fixing his sheets onto the rather flat mattress as Moriarty spoke. It would indeed be a very interesting week. John scoffed, everyone knew of Sebastian and Jim's… relationship of sorts. They were constantly on again off again, due to the fact that tests weren't the only thing that James cheated on. So it came as a bit of a surprise that they would be put in the same cabin, unless a threat was involve somewhere along the way.

"Johnny boy's on top I see. What's wrong Sherly, don't enjoy the top?" His voice didn't sound so sing song, but on the edge of serious as he smirked to the rest of the cabin, settling into his bunk, which happened to be opposite of Sherlock.

The violinist scowled at Moriarty, he shifted his body so that he was angled more towards the wall. His green eyes narrowed at the sheet, "If memory serves me properly, you're the one that doesn't enjoy top," He grumbled under his breath.

"Boys," John stopped their arguing and hopped down from the top bunk to grab a pair of basketball shorts and his Army shirt that he had gotten from his older brother before looking at the other five males.

"We have dinner in twenty minutes, I'm going to go shower, catch you guys later," John waved before adding, "And play nice," He made his way out of the cabin, shaking his head. It would most definitely be a long week.


	2. Monday

**Author's note: Hello everyone! We've worked so hard on this second chapter and I really hope you all love it. This fanfiction has gained some publicity since we've posted it. Don't worry; JohnLock is coming. And yes, the past JimLock is /very/ important to the story later on. c; We're already half way done with the third chapter, so be expecting the update very soon. Like I said, I hope you all enjoy, and by all means please review, we want to know what you all think!~ **

Even though he believed that scales were a good way to warm up and improve your playing upon one's own instrument, he didn't prefer them played outside his window at six thirty in the morning. Quickly Sherlock got out of his bed, put his bathrobe on and stormed outside. He quickly found the source of the obscenely high notes, John. The curly haired teen stormed over to the trumpeter, snatching the brass instrument away from him before storming back inside and throwing the trumpet to the floor, causing John to stand dumbfounded.

"Finally, peace and quiet." He murmured as he fell back onto the mattress. John was obliged to go to wake up call, Monday the trumpets played and seeing as how one of the closet cabins was his, they started there. John decided to do scales, reaching the high notes rather well before suddenly— His trumpet was gone. The blond opened his mouth before sighing, flinching at the sound of his trumpet hitting the ground as his section poked fun at John, who was now trying to open the locked door to his cabin.

"Sherlock, please!" He called out as he knocked on the door, frowning.

Even though the brass were silent the banging on his door was no better. With an annoyed huff Sherlock stood up once more and opened the door. "Shut up! Everybody just shut up! I am trying to sleep!"

"Oh yeah, I forgot, Sherly here isn't a morning person." A sleepy voice that was too close to his ear spoke. Moriarty pushed past Sherlock and John with a towel in hand, heading towards the shower.

"Well, that was disgusting." Sherlock spat out as he gathered his own clothes. "If I ever hear you playing this early in the morning ever again I will take your trumpet and throw it in the lake." He moved past down, heading towards the showers as well.

"Good morning, Locky. Mummsie told me to tell you she loves you." A voice boomed from the megaphone.

"Mycroft if you ever say anything of the like ever again, I will murder everything you love." Sherlock barked at his brother whom was sitting by the camp fire.

"Oh, but I wouldn't want my dear brother to commit suicide." The grown man said in a mock worried voice.

Sherlock scoffed. "Don't lie to me, Mycroft."

John walked to the middle of the room to obtain his trumpet, scowling as he inspected it to make sure his instrument wasn't broken. He sighed and watched a very tired Moriarty walk past them, Sebastian glaring as he followed close behind, John giving a small wave to Sherlock as the curly haired teen picked out his clothes for the day. It was around that time Greg Lestrade starting waking up, Anderson right behind him with an annoyed groan.

"Morning." John gave a slight nod as he left the cabin and headed to the bathroom to change, listening to Mycroft mumble something at him through the megaphone along the lines of 'Good morning' as John tiredly dismissed the assistant teacher with a yawn. John walked into the bathroom which was split in two. If you were to take a right you'd end up in restroom part, take a left and you'd be head towards the showers. Seeing as how John had taken a shower the night before, he decided to skip his morning shower and headed towards the bathroom portion so that he could brush his teeth and change his clothes. When he turned the corner, he was surprised to see James sitting on the counter with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

"What the Hell are you doing?" He covered his eyes, turning his head away slightly.

"What's wrong, Johnny Boy, can't hang?" James smirked smugly before continuing. "But if you must know what I'm doing, stick around and you'll find out." He gave a suggestive wink, though John couldn't see.

"James Moriarty, I swear I will drown you in the god damned lake for this!" Sherlock's voice boomed throughout the restroom.

John kept his eyes away from the barely covered smirking James as Sherlock screamed out, causing James to snicker and John to raise an eyebrow. As an answer he saw James eyes glance down to the outfit and towel besides him, causing John's eyes to widen.

"James, he is going to bloody kill you and you deserve it!" The blond shook his head and snatched up the towel from the sink and disregarded the snickering Jim as he walked off to the other side of the bathroom. "Hey, Sherlock? I have a towel if you want it." John called out, not wanting to make the situation ten times worse by barging into the wrong shower.

Sherlock stuck his hand out of the curtain, snatching the towel from John when he felt the fabric in his hand. He fastened it to his waist, padding angrily to the other side of the restroom. The teenager was steaming, his knuckles white where he gripped his towel, glaring at Moriarty.

"Now don't get so heated Sherlock, it's just an innocent little game," James taunted from the counter top, swinging his legs back and forth.

The curly haired teen muttered an obscenity describing Moriarty under his breath while he quickly snatched up his clothes and locked himself in a stall to get dressed.

"Come on Sherly, you shouldn't use words like that in front of your new boyfriend," The saxophone player smiled towards the stall door.

The trumpet player pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to rub sleep from his eyes, picking up his toothbrush and figuring he might as well get over it over with.

"James, please put on some clothes," John groaned before beginning to brush his teeth, toothbrush dangling as he mumbled out, "Not his boyfriend," Just as Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, wearing a white button up and black jeans, causing John to spit into the sink and scoff, grabbing his clothes and passing Sherlock with a smile. "This week Is going to kill you," He stated as he heard James snicker and pad to the other side of the restroom, hopefully to get changed.

Sherlock was fixing his collar in the mirror, "I'll be inside an air conditioned room for the entirety of my rehearsal time, so I would say that I'm dressed rather appropriately," he took hold of his towel and started to dry his damp curls and started to walk towards the door, but before he completely rounded the corner he turned and looked over to John, "If I were you I would leave soon, Sebastian is still in the shower and knowing James," He made a face before leaving.

John had just finished putting his things in his bag as Sherlock turned to walk out, causing John's face to turn into a scowl. He surely didn't want to be in the bathroom given those circumstances, John quickly changed in one of the stalls, taking a moment to collect himself.

Everyone, especially people in the music department, were well aware of Sebastian's hate for Sherlock Holmes, and since he's met Sherlock, John could see that the resentful feeling was mutual.

John walked into the mostly filled cafeteria, looking around the room for a place to sit. He walked around the room, getting "Sorry"s from a couple of his acquaintances who were at already full tables. After a minute or two he was just considering eating his breakfast while standing in a corner when he saw a surprisingly tense table. Three of his cabin mates were seated, Anderson was glaring across the table at Sherlock who was looking at something on his phone, and then there was Lestrade who was shifting through papers, more than likely making a list of things that the rest of the band needed. He walked over to the table and seated himself to Sherlock's left.

"What're you doing?" Sherlock asked, not looking up from his phone.

John had just taken his sear when Sherlock spoke, causing him to blink.

"Sitting down? I'm sorry, am I not allowed to sit with you guys?" Anderson scoffed at John's question as Lestrade interrupted.

"Don't mind him, he's just being Sherlock," The drum major smiled acceptingly towards John. John and him always had a mutual civil relationship, and John was glad for that.

"It's not that you're not allowed to sit with us, but it is blatantly obvious that you are doing so because your friends would rather you not sit with them." The curly haired teen looked up from his mobile, "It just makes me wonder what it is about you that displeases other people. I already have Anderson to put me off,"

John was dumb founded, his mouth ajar for a moment before he nervously licked his bottom lip before beginning to mess around with his food, deciding that he had lost his appetite.

"Hey!" Anderson scowled and excused himself from the table by pushing his chair back. John watched as he the teenager found himself a spot at a different table, causing those three that remained to fall rather silent.

John turned towards Sherlock, hoping to kill the time with small talk, "So, what was that man using the megaphone saying to you earlier?"

Sherlock froze for a second and set his phone down on the table, "That _man_ was saying probably the most disgusting and annoying thing uttered in human history,"

John was about to respond, but was cut off when a tall man with neat dark brown hair put both his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, "Now my dear baby brother, don't be rude to your new friend. I was just informing Locky here of our Mother's affections. My name is Mycroft, I'm an assistant instructor,"

"Mycroft, take your hands off of me," Sherlock closed his eyes with a straight face as the elder male removed his hands. John looked confused at first, but offered a smile and a hand shake to Mycroft.

"I'm John, it's a pleasure," The teen sipped his coffee as Mycroft smiled coolly.

"Yes, of course, I know who you are, seeing that you've taken an interest in my younger brother," Sherlock groaned and stood, glaring at Mycroft as the man spoke.

"Is the only reason you came to work at this school to stalk me and the people around me?" He gave a blank stare to his elder brother.

"I worry about my baby brother, you're the only one that I have, and if you must know, I'm working here for my own reasons. The world doesn't always revolve around you," Mycroft smirked before sauntering off towards the staff table.

Sherlock turned on his heel, starting towards the exit, "I swear, I could not despise my brother's existence even more if I tried,"

John shook his head at the encounter, standing up quickly and going to take care of his coffee mug.

"Are you coming?" He heard from behind him, causing the blond to blink and turn his heels to find Sherlock with an eyebrow arched in anticipation.

"Oh, of course," He replied with a slightly shocked face as he hustled to catch up with the now moving violin player as they made their way to their cabin before morning practice.

"So, what do you do in orchestra?" John asked, puzzled.

"Play music obviously," Sherlock answered simply, "Every now and then our instructor has us compose short pieces. I actually rather enjoy composing though, it always guarantees that I'll be playing something worthwhile,"

John opened the door to their cabin, walking inside and was relieved to see that it was empty of any other people.

"Can I see something you composed if you have it with you?" John asked, a bit curious as to what type of music the other would create.

The violinist raised an eyebrow, but reached for his music binder nonetheless and handed it to the other, "Everything in the second tab is original."

John smiled slightly and took a seat on Sherlock's bed, not wanting to take the time to climb onto his own bunk. He opened the binder to reveal some sheet music, scribbled and written on which made John blink. He would never compose this well.

He skimmed through the music, amazed in a sorts, but simply licking his bottom lip and nodding, looking up to the other, "Wow, it's very amazing,"

"Of course it's amazing, I wrote it," he sat down next to John, having to hunch his shoulders slightly so that he didn't hit his head.

John scoffed and flipped through a few pages to find a piece with the word "Waltz" on the tope. The blond laughed.

"You write waltzes?" John raised an eyebrow, and looked over to Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded, taking the still open binder from John and sliding it into his own lap. "I do, I rather enjoy the beat," He paused, contemplating whether or not to continue speaking, "Actually… before my family moved here to America we were generally well off in London. My parents had me attend ballroom dancing classes and surprisingly, I enjoyed them,"

John laughed softly and looked over into the other's lap, his eye scanning over the music once more, "Really? Not saying you don't exactly look like the type, but waltzing?" The shorter male shook his head, "I'd be shocked if you didn't have two left feet."

The violinist flipped the binder closed before standing up. He held out a hand to the other teenager with a smirk that he only got when he felt a challenge was presented to him. "Why don't I prove to you that I, indeed, don't have to left feet?

The blond raised an eyebrow, taking the other's hand. "Well," He scowled slightly and glanced up to the other. "I've never exactly learned how to properly dance." He spoke as he stood.

Sherlock scoffed and then dropped his hand slightly. "And you're accusing me of being a poor dancer? I would expect you to have at least a small knowledge of dancing seeing as you have to do a bit of foot work in marching band." After he finished his sentence he felt his own smirk grow a bit bigger when he thought of another challenge. "If you really don't know how to dance then why don't I teach you how to do so?"

John had grown up in a rather poor family, he was lucky to get money for food, let alone dance lessons. The blond laughed a bit nervously, giving a small, rather hesitant nod. "I don't see why not. Sorry if I step on your foot," He chuckled.

Sherlock chuckled and helped John to stand up, "I expect you to step on my foot, seeing as how you're just learning." He took hold of the blonde's hand and pulled him into a standing position. In one hand he loosely gripped John's hand, and the other he placed his back. "Now put your hand on my shoulder," He stated simply.

John felt a bit awkward, seeing as how he normally wasn't this close to people, especially men. He had to stretch a little, but he placed one of his hands lightly on Sherlock's shoulder and looked up at the other, shifting his feet.

The violinist looked down at the other's shifting feet, "Losing your confidence? Well it's a good thing you won't be leading then," Abruptly Sherlock stepped his foot forward, expecting John to follow his lead.

The blond was going to open his mouth to retort when Sherlock moved forward, causing John's statement to turn into, "Bloody Hell!" As he clutched onto Sherlock, losing his footing and falling backwards and slamming his head onto the wood of the top bunk before landing on the bottom bunk, back first and Sherlock on top of him.

Both of them let out a small groan of pain having hit their heads on the top bunk. There was a small click as the door opened and someone had stepped in.

"What are you two doing up here, your rehearsal ties started nearly ten minutes-" Mycroft cut himself off as he looked over to the two teenagers, "Are we going to have to have a talk with Mother Sherlock?"

John was in mid chuckle as the door opened, causing his face to pale as he pushed the taller male off of him, careful not to hit his head once more.

"Piss off Mycroft," Sherlock muttered and stood, rubbing the back of his head before snatching up his case and groaning.

Mycroft moved to the side to allow Sherlock to leave. He remained to wait as John was still getting his trumpet case.

"If I may ask, what were you two actually doing? I'm sure you already know this, but my brother isn't the most sociable person, so please excuse my surprise," he cleared his throat, "Might I expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

John had shoved his music in his case as he looked up at the other with a smile and a laugh, "We weren't anything. We tripped and happened to fall, bad timing is all," he gave a hesitant nod as he walked past Mycroft, stopping to look up at the ale before quickly leaving the cabin.

"Okay, good work everybody," Mrs. Hudson announced happily as she cut the orchestra off, "Take a ten minute break,"

Immediately the whole room was filled with students talking and some stray notes being played. Some students ran off to get water or to get something from their cabin. Sherlock stood and walked over to get something from their cabin. Sherlock stood and walked over to where Mrs. Hudson was standing, sorting through the music scores on the podium.

"Sherlock, you seem like you're in a bad mood, does it have anything to do with why you were late today?" She asked, looking up to the teenage boy.

"My _dear_ brother was being a nuisance and decided to interrupt me in my cabin without thinking to knock first. Do you mind?" Sherlock took the music scores before she answered and started looking through the music. He furrowed his eyebrows when he came across a piece that was titled Achilles' Wrath. "Why do you have this? This isn't an orchestra score,"

The teacher smiled at Sherlock, "Well, I was talking to Mycroft," Sherlock scowled, "Oh, don't give me that look. As I was saying, he and I were discussing it and we both agreed that it would be fun to put the band and orchestra together for concert season, but we couldn't find any fitting pieces. When we heard this one we were disappointed to find it only being for band, but then I said that I could ask you if you wanted to try composing a string portion,"

After a short moment of stunned silence Sherlock smiled and hugged his instructor, "That would be brilliant,"

John had to run ten laps around the filed once he'd arrived, due to his tardiness. Not like it was a physical strain, John was used to running. After he was done he'd caught up in the drill, counting along with their steps. It was a relief to everyone when Greg Lestrade announced it was time for a water break. John plopped down and pulled out his water bottle and music with a sigh. Achilles' Wrath was their closer and most of their show actually. Though John was rather experienced with his instrument and playing, this music was giving him some trouble. He just couldn't get the rhythm down. He sighed and rubbed his temples, he'd have to work on it later with Greg. That is if hell didn't break out in their cabin tonight.

Sherlock walked into the cafeteria after the main crowd of students, so obviously the tables were pretty much full.

"Hey, Sherlock, why don't you come sit over here?" John's voice beckoned from a couple of tables away.

The violinist turned and quickly spotted the other, and walked over, quickly scanning the other people at the table. No one he actually knew, they were all in the band.

John gladly let Sherlock take the seat next to him, some people at the table making quiet remarks about Sherlock being in orchestra, causing John to glare at them before speaking.

"What'cha got?" John pointed lightly at the score folder the violinist was carrying.

Sherlock glanced down at the folder, pulling it slightly closer to him with a smirk, "It's a bit of a secret,"

John gave a slight smile and took a bite of his food, shaking his head. "That's no fun."

Sherlock scoffed, "Not everything is fun, and this morning is evidence enough for that." He felt his stomach grumble and eyes the empty food bar.

The blond turned a bit red before taking his extra plate, containing an apple, tater tots and a hamburger and pushing it towards the other in an offering manor. "Here, I figured you might want something."

"Thanks you." Sherlock said, taking his fork and stabbing it into the tater tots before popping one into his mouth. "So, did you have any punishment for being late?"

"I had to run some laps, nothing big." John shrugged it off and took a few tater tots in his own mouth before looking around and seeing some people from their table stand up and leave, giving John a quick goodbye.

"I see," He set his fork down. "Did anything of interest happen during your practice session?" The curly haired teen took hold of his apple, feeling the obligation of making small talk in return for the food.

John smiled slightly at the small talk, finding it rather enjoyable as he took small sips of his coffee as he looked over the brim of his cup at Sherlock. "Anderson tripped during drill and Moriarty got a solo in our opener." He sighed tiredly. "You?"

"Well, Molly managed to break her E string in the middle of practice and Ms. Hudson and I had a small chat together." He took a bite from the apple. "James with a solo? Oh how I pity all of those who are forced to hear it."

He chuckled and shook his head, stacking his plates before checking his watch. 12:25, sectionals weren't until one. "Do you want to go to the cabin with me? Maybe we could try dancing again." John laughed and finished his coffee off, looking to Sherlock with a teasing expression.

"So that's why you two were gone," A sing song voice from behind them sounded. "Dancing." He emphasized the word, as if it were a taboo.

"Yes, dancing. Something that you aren't able to do without looking like a paraplegic platypus." Sherlock retorted, looking at Moriarty with an annoyed glance.

John sighed and turned to see the black haired male. "Screw off, Jim." The blond scoffed and stood, looking over to Sherlock before picking up his plates and cup, walking away from the two.

Moriarty shrugged his shoulders. "I was planning on screwing something, but the word off wasn't what I had in mind." He winked at them before walking off, himself.

"Ah, the always eloquent James is a delight." Sherlock spoke sarcastically as he threw his half eaten apple away and walked in attempt to catch up with John, who had stopped to wait for Sherlock by the door as he grabbed a pear to possibly eat later.

"You two are very… tense." The trumpet plated raised his eyebrow before closing the dining hall doors behind them.

The curly haired teen scowled. "Tense is an accurate word."

"Wanna explain that?" John laughed and looked up at Sherlock as they made their way to the cabin.

Sherlock looked down towards the ground, kicking a small rock out of his way, contenting himself with a sulking silence. The other took that as a no, decided not to push the matter and shoved his hand in his pocket as they enjoyed the silence of the woods which engulfed their cabin.

John was not a nosy person, but he was rather curious as to what was the cause of tension between Sherlock and Moriarity. During the band practice session, where the whole band was sitting in the pavilion working on the music, they were allowed a few minutes of break time. The blond walked over to the alto sax section, looking for a certain musician.

"Oh, hey there Johnny boy, what brings you to this side of the band?" James looked up to John with his regular cocky smirk from his seat on the table.

John ignored the other's smug look. "I just wanted to know what made things so tense between you and Sherlock." The trumpet asked, instrument in hand as he attempted to keep his voice down.

John merely chuckled, a devious glint in his eyes as he dismissed the question with a shake of his head. There was a whistle, causing John to turn his attention back to the band instructor and leave Moriarty with a dismissed wave. Once he'd gotten back to his spot on the picnic table, under the pavilion, he realized the orchestra had been released early to watch, causing John to smile slightly as he flipped through his music to find his spot.

"Okay everyone, let's play from measure twelve to the end of the opener and we'll be done until after dinner." Lestrade, the drum major standing atop one of the picnic tables announced as he raised his hands so that he could conduct.

There was a moment of still silence before Lestrade brought his hands down on the first beat, immediately music resonated through the air, ominous, dark, much like the calm before the storm. After a few measures the melody had turned into a controlled chaos of many different, precise rhythms that miraculously fit together. At one point all of the rhythms met and stopped abruptly, allowing for Moriarty's solo which was reminiscent of a lost child desperately trying to find their way home, a sad and slow melody. After the solo the rest of the band slowly crescendos in with chords to fit under the final note as everyone slowly faded into silence.

By the end of the phrase John's eyebrows were knit together, he always messed up that part, with a sigh he listened to Lestrade dismiss them and set his instrument in the case, groaning as he rubbed his hand over his face. Thank God for break.

"Hey, John," His name was stressed, causing the trumpet to whip around and face his rather annoying cabin mate. Before John could open his mouth, Jim lightly gripped the strap of John's wife beater and gently tugged him close, whispering in John's ear with a smirk, watching the poor boy's face turn white and his eyes grow. "See you later, Johnny." James sung innocently as he pulled away from the other band member. Sherlock, who had been with the rest of the orchestra and listening to the band, was pleasantly surprised when he heard the band start to play. He would have to ask to see the music score later, he made a mental note. When the music stopped he politely clapped and was about to walk over to John to tell him that he did a good job, but stopped when he saw James lean in and whisper something to the blond. Shit.

Once the saxophone player had walked away Sherlock quickly moved to the other's side. "What's wrong? What did Jim say to you?"

John blinked a few times once Sherlock had come to his side; looking over his shoulder to see James smirk at him, and place a finger his own lips and mimic a shushing noise, causing John to shake his head. "Uh, nothing." The male shook his head and swallowed. "Nothing at all." He stated a little more confidently as he furrowed his brows. His skinned burned where James touched him, and it was anything but pleasant, it was hate for the words the black haired male had spoken that made him simply resent his touch. John hadn't realized but his jaw was tensed and fist clenched around his instrument. He forced himself to regain his calm stature and look up at the taller violinist.

Sherlock eyes the other up and down; it was obvious that it wasn't 'nothing'. If he had to put a word on it, John appeared to be seething. "If it was something that James said then it's more than likely some lie he spouted just to get under your skin. Trust me, I've had the misfortune of knowing him since I was thirteen."

John took a deep breath and looked Sherlock in the eye for a swift moment; he couldn't believe what he'd heard. The trumpet plated grabbed Sherlock's arm with his free hand, setting his instrument down as he pulled the taller teen into a small practice room, quickly shutting the door. "You slept with James?!"

A shocked look quickly spread across Sherlock's face. One of the few moments of his life he was not sure how to respond. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak. "I don't see how that is any of your business." Sherlock defensively snapped at John.

"The blond blinked and released his hold on Sherlock's arm. It wasn't any of his business; maybe he was being too defensive of the matter. He didn't know what to say so he simply sighed and punched the bridge of his nose with a nod. James Moriarty sure knew how to get in his head, and John hated it.

Sherlock gave a small huff, looking down at the frustrated teen. He knew he ought to tell John, it might make him less frustrated, but at the same time it might cause him to want to have nothing to do with Sherlock. The violinist didn't like the thought of John being upset with him; he was the closest thing he had to a friend. "Look, John," The male tentatively began, running a hand through his curly locks. "It happened during my freshman year with him. We were both conducting personal experiments in the chemistry classroom, and no that's not a euphemism, and it just happened. If he had told you is was a relationship it would be a lie, it wasn't rational, it was completely physical."

The trumpet player kept still and silent before nodding, shifting awkwardly on his feet a few times as he crossed his arms. "Okay, Sherlock, all right." The smaller teen felt stupid for getting upset to begin with. "Sorry, I—pried," He poked at his brain for the correct wording. "I just-" It came to his attention that John didn't actually know how to end that sentence. He licked his lips and reached out for the door handle so they didn't have to be so cramped.

Without properly thinking about what he was doing, Sherlock reached out and grabbed John's arm before he opened the door. "I'm serious, John. James and I were just curious teenagers at the time." After finishing his sentence he let John open the door to leave and Sherlock followed close behind him, glancing about the relatively empty pavilion. Sitting on top of one of the tables was Sebastian, who was polishing off his trombone and sent the two of them a glare on sight.

John had straightened himself out once they left the room, catching where Sherlock's gaze was and following it to find the rather intimidating trombone player glaring at them, leaving John uneasy. He lightly clasp on Sherlock's sleeve, pulling him down slightly as they began to leave the pavilion. "I take it he knows and is… hatefully jealous?"

Sherlock nodded. "I would assume so; I don't see any other reason for him to detest me more than other people."

The violinist started toward the cabin, ignoring the ever present glare from Sebastian. He knew that if he sat in the cabin long enough Jim would be there and then Sherlock would be able to classify himself as a murderer. It would be an understatement if he said that he was simply annoyed with the saxophone player, he didn't need anybody going about telling people of an irrelevant part of the past, especially when it could potentially hinder his future if certain people were to find out.

"That's not a good look on your face." John stated, looking up to the other before walking up the steps to their cabin and opening the door, waiting for a rather angry Sherlock to reply.

"It's a look that I get when I'm thinking of as many different ways to kill a person with a reed and not get caught." He smirked as he thought of another method. "I have thirteen so far."

John's eyes widen slightly. "Whoa there, no fighting. You and Jim need to settle this." The trumpet palter shut their door and found the motivation to crawl up into his own bunk before plopping down.

Sherlock scowled. "That's what I intend to do." He sat in his bunk, glaring at the currently empty one across from him, where a rather annoying saxophone normally slept.

"Can you settle it without killing each other?" John asked, raising an eyebrow as he thought to himself, probably not. He sighed and moved to lean off of his bunk and glance at Sherlock.

"I'll jump off a building before that happens." Sherlock stated, still glaring at the other bunk, as if it would catch on fire if he glare intensely enough. "He and I settling things is highly unlikely."

John sighed and gave Sherlock a glare, crunching his eyebrows together in silence. "You're both going to make this week torture."

The door clicked open and the currently disliked male walked in with a content smirk on his face. Immediately Sherlock stood and walked over to the teenager, muttering insults and obscenities under his break.

"What's wrong, Sherly? I thought you knew I was /treble/ when I walked into the chemistry lab." James started laughing a bit too hard at his own pun.

John gripped the side of his bunk and hopped over it to land, crouched, on the ground. He straightened himself and walked up behind Sherlock, thought made no attempt to jump between them yet, simply raising an eyebrow at Jim's bad pun.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. "I knew you have poor timing, especially in situations like this, but do you really think that this is an appropriate time for puns?"

"It's always time to be punny, Sherlock." Jim snickered and pushed past the duo, going to his bunk. "I just gotta get Sebby some clothes; he'd managed to make a mess of himself." The black haired male grabbed some clothes and turned back to the others.

The violinist stepped in the other's way, hindering his ability to exit. "Did Moran make a mess of himself or did you make a mess of him? Pigs are rather filthy animals." Sherlock asked, glaring down at the other. Jim simply gave an innocent smirk as an answer, causing John to input in the situation. "You two are acting like children." He murmured, sighing.

Sherlock gave a huff; he knew that if he continued to talk to James he would just get angrier. He let out an angry grunt and crossed his arms across his chest. With a sigh John took a step between the two, causing Jim to frown in an unamused way.

"You guys are so boring." The man huffed before leaving the cabin, causing John and Sherlock to look at each other, John scowling.

"He is absolutely the most insufferable human being on this planet. I wouldn't doubt it if someone had told me that there was a gas leak in the chemistry lab during freshman year." Sherlock huffed, picking up his music score to start composing and blow off some steam.

John shook his head and peered at the score, noticing it was Achilles' Wrath and sitting down next to Sherlock. "Why do you have that?"

Quickly Sherlock snapped the folder closed, not wanting the other to know of the added orchestra portion. He had promised Mrs. Hudson that he would keep it a secret, seeing as how it was to be a surprise. "Oh, I must have been given the wrong score, I'll have to go and ask Mrs. Hudson for the correct one." Sherlock stood and started towards the door.

With a small tilt of his head, John moved as he was going to follow, but instead spoke. "Well, I'm going to be in Popcorn hollow, if you decide you have some free time." The blond gave a nod and was off to get his trumpet.

"Good thing, I brought my ear plugs then." Sherlock uttered under his breath as he headed towards one of the winding trails. The trumpet player shook his head with a sigh and headed off, deciding to grab some of his personal music to play.

Sherlock walked into the orchestra room, dropping his music on a stand and approaching Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh hellos there, Sherlock, are you here to get some extra practice in?" Mrs. Hudson smiled up at the teen.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I just want some extra pieces to sight read; I've already exhausted my own music."

Ms. Hudson shifted through her sheets. "I'm sorry dear; I don't have anything you haven't seen."

"Fine." He picked up his violin case and his binder and walked out. He found himself musing down a random path, trying to mentally compose some of his own music as he walked, humming the melody in his mind before a counteractive rhythm come from down the path, deciding to follow the path and discover the source of the music.

John was playing Ave Maria, some music he'd been meaning to get around to since the beginning of the summer. He'd gotten most the music down, almost as perfect as he could get it. Once he was more pleased with his own playing ability, he decided to play through the entire song once, mentally transposing the eerie yet oddly cheerful melody to key of B flat. Though it sounded higher, it still held a smooth tone while he played through the music, adding vibrato to the longer notes and slurs. Though he smudged a few notes, overall it fell together well.

Sherlock got to the bottom of a small hill and found that it opened up to make a large natural circle that had benches placed around it, all facing inward and in the center of it was a certain trumpeter. The violinist was easily able to tell the piece was Ave Maria; it was actually once of the first pieces that he performed. The teen was surprised at the precision John was playing at, and the tone quality was beautiful, but it felt like there was an emptiness lurking in notes, echoing through the melody as John played. Quietly, he set his violin case on a bench and opened it up so that he could take out his violin to play.

Once he was in playing position he let his bow hover over the strings, and listened to the other, waiting for the right time to come in. When he heard John take a breath he brought his bow down and began playing the supporting chords that he believed would help to bring the melody out, correctly of course.

John was slightly taken aback by the sudden company, but decided to continue playing, seeing that the violin brought a new livelihood to the song, and actually sounded rather beautiful. The trumpet player gave a quick glance to the violinist over his lyre, looking up the hill to see a familiar face. Eyes closed, face of concentration. John let his concentration slip for a moment, causing him to hit a wrong not, but quickly recover himself with a reddened face.

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows a bit when he heard the wrong note, but was glad that the recovery was smooth. When the last note was played and had rung out through the woods the violinist smiled down at John, the music that was just played was rather beautiful, and he could tell that the trumpeter was working hard by the bruising of his lips.

"I hate to admit it, but my presumption of your ability was wrong. That was brilliant, for a trumpet player that is," Sherlock was making his way down the steps that lead to the center of the circle, "I didn't expect you to be able to transpose like that,"

John licked his lips, which were tingling from his practice time; it'd been at least an hour. He placed his instrument down and took a step towards Sherlock as h moved towards the middle. "You're pretty shocking yourself Sherlock. That was," He searched his brain for a good word, "Brilliant, maybe string players aren't as bad as I'd like to admit," He chuckled.

Sherlock smiled, "Thank you, but at a high school level most students are less than desirable players," He tucked his bow under his arm so that he could give the other a handshake, "Seriously though, that was really good transposing,"

The trumpet player laughed and took the other's hand, shaking it for a moment. "I could say the same. That sounded amazing Sherlock, you should play in front of people more often," John offered the other a smile.

"I'd rather not, people put me off or they annoy me. I play to help me think, or to relax, if I were to play in front of an audience more often it would have the opposite effect," Sherlock took his bow back in his hand and played a few stray notes. John was silent, giving a slight nod as Sherlock spoke. He let a moment pass as Sherlock played stray notes, as random as they were, they sounded beautiful.

"Would you play something for me then?" he raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, licking his lips.

Without a word Sherlock brought his bow up and started to play a light hearted tune. The beat bounced and it was jovial. After a few phrases he stopped and looked expectantly at the other.

The other was merely ecstatic that Sherlock had started to play, giving a satisfactory nod to Sherlock once a glance was shared, and finding a seat on one of the benches.

The song illuminated the forest, sweeping its way between the blowing leaves to set them on fire, leaving the hair on the back of your neck stand with applause for such beauty. From a simple bow across strings, much like a brush upon a canvas. John's eyes lit up with illustrations and happy memories as the tune circled his mind, engulfing him. He was positively wrong about Sherlock's playing abilities, more than he'd like to admit. The song closed as it opened, leaving a cherry on top of such a delectable piece of music. John clapped softly once Sherlock dropped his bow.

Sherlock opened his eyes to look at the clapping John. It was a bit of a habit of his to close his eyes while playing so that he could concentrate more on his musicality. The violinist went towards his case so that he could put his instrument away, even though he enjoyed playing in front of John, he still wasn't quite used to having an audience. That and anyone could arrive at any moment.

"That was amazing Sherlock," John half laughed from his seat, watching the other pack up before standing himself. "We have about forty five minutes before dinner, anything interesting we could do?"

"Well, I could try to teach you how to dance again, with a bit more of a warning so we don't trip again," Sherlock smirked as he walked back towards the other.

John took a moment and smirked, holding out his hand to the other once he'd come close enough. "That sounds wonderful," the shorter male laughed once Sherlock placed his hand atop his own.

Sherlock put his other hand on the small of John's back and told the other, "Now, follow my feet." He took a slow step forward, not wanting to trip again. With a nod John followed and moved his feet back, his free hand on Sherlock's shoulder as he wore a proud grin. Sherlock smirked and then moved his next foot, "Better than this morning," He started to mutter 1, 2, 3 under his breath to help the other keep the beat. John nodded and gripped Sherlock's hand tighter, looking down at their feet and mumbling counts under his own breath, furrowing his brows as he tried to keep his feet in beat. Sherlock noticed the other watching their feet so he moved his head down to lightly bump the other's "Don't watch your feet. A dancer is to be able to confidently look at their partner,"

John opened his mouth, but decided against it, simply nodding as he repositioned his head to watch Sherlock as they moved. For a few moments it worked, but then John was smiling dumbly.

"What's so humorous?" Sherlock asked as he slowly pulled away to lead John through a turn. He lifted his arm up a bit to help allow the other to pass.

John went through the pass before returning to their beginning position, shaking his head. "Just the fact I'm at band camp, waltzing with a violinist I've just met who had just played me one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard, it's a little odd to look you in the eyes while dancing too," The male laughed as Sherlock took him into another turn.

Sherlock shifted his eyes a bit, letting them stare past John, "I can see why,"

John blinked and looked over his shoulder slightly then back to Sherlock, raising an eyebrow as their steps slowed, "You okay Sherlock?"

The violinist's smirk had dropped and was replaced with a small frown.

"I'm fine, perfectly fine," His tone was tense and slightly jerky.

John stopped their feet, though didn't move away, simply looked up at the other, "Obviously not," He shook his head.

"What are you a doctor? I'm perfectly fine, as a human being am I not allowed to experience something as regular as a mood swing?" Sherlock moved his eyes back to John, but they still had a bit of a distant look in them.

John had dropped his hands and looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes and giving a nod, "Yeah, alright. Don't get your boxers in a twist, I just was worried," He held his hand up in apology.

"It's fine, it's just that," Sherlock blew air up, blowing a stray curl up off of his forehead, "James is rather skilled at getting under my skin, especially with that rather redundant nickname,"

"That is understandable," John noted, thinking of the alto sax player, scowling with a shake of his head. Moriarty knew how to get under anyone's skin, Sherlock just seemed to have it worst, "It's the past Sherlock. Don't let him bug you," John reassured the other with a pat to Sherlock's shoulder.

"I know it is in the past, I'd hate it if it were the present. James is a rather physical person and I just played along…" Sherlock paused, glancing down at John's and that was on his shoulder, "To be honest he interested me at the time. He wasn't as predictable as everybody else,"

Seeing that John had many of his own regrettable relationships he knew where Sherlock was coming from. He removed his hand and walked to get his case and then face Sherlock, giving a questionable eyebrow raise. "Predictable? That is surely something Jim isn't, but others aren't so predictable either,"

Sherlock scoffed, "Oh please, people are very predictable," He walked over to retrieve his own case, "I can tell that you've been playing for almost seven years now, but somehow you've gained the upper hand on the seniors. I would say that you take lessons, but you don't come from a family that would be able to afford them, so you just simply practice a lot. People are open books, most everyone is and when you read them you should be able to more or less know what will happen next,"

"The fact that you're able to do that is… amazing, but not exactly normal," John spoke as he lifted up his case and ventured back up the hill to Sherlock's side, looking up at the other, "What about you then? You obviously know everything about me, but I can't say the same for you,"

"Me? Well I'm a violinist," Sherlock began lamely while eying the ground as they walked. He wasn't quite used to anyone asking about him, "I've been playing since I was four. Mycroft and I don't get along, and my mother worries a lot."

"Four? Wow," John kept his free hand in his pocket and looked down as well, "And Mycroft's your brother? That's cool, he helps with the bass instruments right?" He continued, "Why'd you come to America?"

"My mother wanted to have a fresh start after my father had died. I suppose she didn't want to be reminded of Father at all, so to be sure of it she had us come here," Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, "It honestly didn't matter to me where we lived,"

John gave a nod, he could understand that. "I see, at least you were alright with it," The trumpet player looked up at the other with a small smile.

"I never said that I was alright with it, I just simply don't care," The violinist scrunched his nose when he saw the mess that was left at the pavilion.

John's own eyes flickered to the pavilion, seeing some of the low brass laughing and sitting on the picnic table, causing John to scowl at how loud they were.

"I didn't like moving here either, so it's alright,"

"Why did you and your family move to America then?" Sherlock gave the low brass a quick glance as he heard them taunting him once they saw that he was a string player.

The trumpet glared at the low brass, causing them to shut up as John took a seat on one of the empty tables, swallowing slightly. "Dad was a big drinker, it got us into some trouble. Harry got into the wrong crowd too so mom decided it was time to leave," He played with the handle on his case, "Dad died after we left. Drank himself off, he finished with a shrug.

"Oh, well, what about you then? How was it like for you before you moved here?" Sherlock set his case down by the orchestra room door.

John simply shook his head. Back in England wasn't the best time of his life. He changed the subject, "So how's the orchestra coming along?"

"Better than expected, but not by much. There's this one girl, what's her name… Molly, she's a decent player, but she's always coming in late," he answered.

"You would think that since we're at camp to play, playing would be something you wouldn't be late for," John laughed and looked over to Sherlock, "We should head to dinner,"

Sherlock checked his phone for his time, "You're right, let's go,"

The two walked together down to the cafeteria. A crowd of students were already filing into the large room. Once they were inside the cafeteria they were able to find and empty table near the back where they took their food to and sat down.

John had noticed that Sherlock hadn't taken much and scowled at the violinist in question. He hadn't seen Sherlock eat much since they'd been there.

"Why are you giving me that look?" Sherlock asked as he picked up his fork and picked at his food.

"You didn't get much," John stated, opening his mouth to speak once more, but was cut off by a man sitting frown at the table besides them, noticing Sherlock tense.

"He never eats much, look at how skinny he it," Mycroft spoke as he smiled at his brother.

"I don't eat more than I need to Mycroft. Have you gained weight?" Sherlock spoke as he viciously stabbed his salad.

Mycroft gave an innocent smile and clasped his hands in his lap.

"Sherlock, don't be so rude," John shook his head as he spoke, looking to Mycroft.

"Brother, your… pal is right. You've been rather moody lately. Should I have Mummy call you?"

"It was just a simple question Mycroft, there's no need to bring Mother into this. She already worries too much as it is," Sherlock grumbled, "And I have not been moody, I've been acting how I always do, it's not my fault I'm stuck in a cabin with James,"

"James?" Mycroft lifted his eyebrows, "Anything I should be concerned about?" Mycroft, of course, knew of Sherlock and James' old… relationship.

"Well seeing as how you've never been concerned about it before, no. It won't matter once the week is over," Sherlock grumbled, playing with his food.

Mycroft left it at that and took a sip of his tea, John taking a bit of his food as he looked at the brothers.

"Good afternoon Mycroft," John said, trying to hold civil conversation at their table, causing the corners of Mycroft's lips to quirk upwards in a sly smile.

"Good afternoon, Watson was it?" Mycroft politely replied, "I hope my brother isn't causing you too much trouble,"

John laughed softly and took a drink of his coffee. "John Watson, yes," He nodded his head, glancing his eyes over at Sherlock who was slouched down in his sear, stabbing at his food, causing John to smile endearingly. "No trouble at all,"

"That's good, I would hate to have to call home to Mother just to tell her that her little Locky is being a trouble maker," Mycroft smiled, eying his brother, "Oh, come now brother, you're not a child, stop playing with your food."

"I'm not playing with it, I'm just masticating," Sherlock took a small bit of his salad, causing John to raise his eyebrows at the duo, clearing his throat.

"Boys, please," The trumpet player finished off his coffee and looked up at the clock, "I have practice, I should go. See you later Sherlock," John offered a small smile and nodded to Mycroft, "It was a pleasure," With that John left the two, Sherlock half sulking in his seat as Mycroft smiled and offered a curt "Goodbye,"

"So?" Mycroft asked, raising his eyes to Sherlock.

"So what?" Sherlock asked, straightening up in his seat and setting his fork down.

"John Watson? Nice boy, I'm glad you chose someone nice this time around," Mycroft adjusted his mug, crossing one leg over the other.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, "Are you implying that him and I- no. He is my," He paused. Was John a friend? He didn't have too much experience in this field, "Friend. That's it, nothing more. James was a mistake and that won't happen again, and I would appreciate you not nosing into my life brother."

"A friend?" Mycroft asked, puzzled, "That's just as dangerous my dear brother," The elder Holmes looked at his brother. "Is it so wrong for me to be concerned about my little brother?"

Sherlock scoffed and stood, "Well, I'd be lying if I told you this has been a pleasure, but I don't want to be late to rehearsal, so goodbye Mycroft," The violinist headed out without a backwards glance at his brother.

The assistant teacher smiled as his brother gave him his normal farewell, leaving Mycroft to sigh. Sherlock would never learn.

"Dismissed!" Lestrade, the drum major called before hopping off of the podium, "Now, before you all go back to your cabins you have to stay out here for 'Forced Family Fun'. Tonight we're doing sack races and three legged races, and before you ask, yes, the orchestra kids have to do it too. Speaking of which, here they are,"

Most of the band looked to the path to see the small group of orchestra students making their way down.

John of course was going to run over to Sherlock, but was found being pulled away by Mike, a fellow trumpet player who had taken John to be his partner. Before the short male had time to argue he laughed, finding himself watching the sack races as Mike tied their feet together.

Sherlock, once on the field, stood on the sidelines. He didn't want to participate in the games, he saw no real need to, but it was the rules for him to at least be present while the event was happening. Lestrade blew his whistle to signify the beginning of the race. The curly haired teen flicked his eyes through the crowd, quickly finding John hobbling with another teenager. He couldn't help, but to give a tiny little chuckle when the two tripped and fell behind. He could hear John encouraging the other, saying that they still had a chance. Sherlock didn't know it, but his face had a small little smile as he watched John participate in the games.

'A friend? That's just as dangerous my dear brother'. The words surfaced in Sherlock's mind. "How ridiculous, a friend isn't dangerous unless you let them become one." The teenager muttered under his breath.

Once the games were over John laughed with Mike seeing that they'd came in rather late seeing that they'd fallen a few times. John's black wife beater was covered in sweat and he was more than ready for a shower, and he planned on going to take one before he heard the whistle sound, calling the band kids to a stop and snap to attention. He wasn't expecting to be called up after game night, but he guessed that Lestrade had wanted to show off to the orchestra kids that had gathered around.

"Band, a ten hut." Greg called out, clapping his hands at a common time pace.

"A ten hut one!" The band echoed loudly.

"Heels," Greg called out loudly, the band replying even louder as they began an echo of their chant, which went; Heels, together! Toes, apart! Stomach, in! Chest, out! Shoulders, back! Chin, pride! Chin, pride! Chin, pride! That was said in a back and forth between the drum major and the band. Then ended in a roaring 'Dismissed!' from Lestrade, causing all the band members to return to their regularly scheduled program as if they hadn't just been screaming their lungs out.

John plopped down on the grass neck to Sherlock and enjoyed a moment of rest, seeing a smug Sherlock look down at him.

"What are you so smug about?" John groaned out, rubbing his calves and trying to dull the ache.

"The way you all respond to a whistle, it's amusing. It's as if you're all trained dogs." Sherlock mused, starting to stroll up the path.

John had to force himself off the grass and grab his instrument to follow the other. "That's one way to put it I guess." John mused, playing some stray notes on his trumpet as they walked up the path, ignoring the aching pain in his legs.

Sherlock looked down to the other; the smell of sweat was a bit strong. "I do hope you shower tonight, you're absolutely drenched in your own sweat. It's understandable since you've been out here all day, but that doesn't make your stench any less offensive."

John scoffed and ran his free hand through his hair, unintentionally ruffling his short blond hair. "Of course I'll be showering." He looked up the path to see James and Sebastian walking together, causing him to scowl. He'd have to be showering with them, he'd make sure to keep his clothes in sight.

The violinist followed the other's gaze and scowled when he saw the two in front of them. "Don't worry, James probably won't steal your clothes; he already did it to me. It would be boring to do the same thing, especially in the same day."

The trumpet player sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I guess I just don't want to hear of my least people having sex in the show." John huffed, nodding his head towards James and his little shadow as they walked up the path.

Sherlock tensed his hands a bit and put them in his pockets. "Well if he needs to be he can be quiet, so depending on the amount of people in the shower room you might not hear it."

John cringed, just the thought was off putting. He opened the door to the cabin and held the door for Sherlock, seeing that everyone, but Greg had already reached the cabin and was gathering things for their shows. John was grabbing his own sleep clothes out of his duffle bag.

The violinist sat in his bunk, bending down to retrieve a book from his bag. He had brought along a few novels, one of which being a paperback copy of the Fellowship of the Ring, which was a gift from his mother, Still bent over his bad he eyed the book, quickly reading the back cover, hearing John as he left the cabin.

Jim hung out after Sebastian and Samson Anderson had left, smirking. "What a nice sight, Sherly," Jim cooed from his own bunk; shower bag under his ar.

The mentioned teen popped his head up, glaring at the other, "I would say the same to you, but you're in my line of sight. Why don't you go off to shower already, your regular stench is already unbearable without sweat and dirt added to it,"

Jim shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step towards the taller male, "Come on Sherlock," His voice cooed, yet withheld a more serious tone, his lips forming into a look of hurt and disgust, "Don't be so foul,"

"I'm merely stating the truth, James," Sherlock's voice had deepened into a more serious and almost hateful tone as he looked up at the other who was now about arm's length away.

The male gave a small, rather forced smile at the other as he cocked his head to the side, "You've always been rather nasty to avoid feeling emotions.

"I've always acted how I saw fit. Feelings are boring," Sherlock set the book down next to him on the bed so that he could rest his head on his hands which were leaning their elbows on his knees.

James crouched down, hands still on his pockets as he sat eye-to-eye with Sherlock, a sly smirk on his face, "Feelings are what make you alive," He stressed the last words dangerously as he stood, bored with Sherlock's company.

"If I'm not alive then what am I?" The violinist asked, his eyes never leaving the other. He stood as well, feeling satisfied at the fact his height dominating the others.

Jim looked up Sherlock's body slowly before meeting his eyes, causing him to give a lazy half smirk. "A pawn, an insignificant disposable piece used for a bigger cause, only needed for entertainment… or a monster," The ending of his sentence coming out with pure hate.

Sherlock felt himself smirk, just to spite the other, "A monster? Out of the two of us you're closer to that description than I am. You claim that you're with that Sebastian fellow, yet it is to my knowledge that you sleep with other people. Why is that? Afraid to commit?"

Jim's jaw tensed as he tried to hide the venom in his voice, "I think you'd understand that better than anyone. Just don't break poor Johnny boy's heart like you so carelessly tend to do," Jim grabbed his clothes and exited the cabin, just as a clean John entered, toweling his wet hair with a questioning look.

"What are you trying to insinuate?" Sherlock called after the saxophone player. He let out an angry puff of air as he plopped himself down on his bed. He bent over his bag again to pull out his pyjamas and he started to quickly change while muttering words such as "Insufferable," or "Unbearable,"

John hung his towel over his shoulders, furrowing his eyebrows at Sherlock, plopping down on the younger male's bunk. "What was that about?"

After pulling his head through a white T-shirt Sherlock sat down next to John. "James was being his regular self. That's all." His words were short, staccato.

"Anything that needs taking care of? I'm sure Mycroft-"Sherlock interrupted John with a scoff.

"Mycroft," He simply stated, causing John to sigh and adjust his own T-shirt. James had a way of driving Sherlock crazy within minutes. Sherlock let out another sigh to help calm him. He turned his head to look towards John, "It's not that I don't enjoy your company, but I'd like to become unconscious before having to deal with James again,"

John nodded at the other and offered a small smile, "Well, goodnight Sherlock, don't worry too much about James," John gave an awkward nod as he stood, going to get into his own bunk.

Sherlock laid down in his own bunk, under the covers and facing the wall, "Yeah, goodnight,"


	3. Tuesday

**Author note: Hey guys! Chapter three, yay! I've had this done for a while I just haven't gotten around to posting it up, I hope you guys like it and chapter four is almost done being written. We have an emotional rollercoaster in store for you lot, oh yes. C; *Evil ideas.* I apologize in advance for all the Past Sheriarty. This is the last chapter that will be involved in, promise! The next are pure Johnlock but there will be some angst. Thanks for all your feedback, it's highly appreciated. Well, enjoy!**

"Bloody Hell, shut _up_!" John moaned as he moved his pillow over his head, hearing a rather loud alto sax repeatedly playing Careless Whispers outside the window which John and Sherlock's bunk was pressed against.

A rather disgruntled Sherlock opened his window and threw the first thing that he could get his hands on at the saxophone player, which was his copy of the Fellowship of the Ring. He sat up and glared out the window, "I want you to know that I despise you, and that your death would give me great joy,"

John could hear Jim exclaim from being hit with a book from outside, causing John to smile against his pillow before sitting up and yelling out the window between a yawn, "I'm up now, go away!"

There was a bang from someone, more than likely James, hit the side of the cabin as he passed. Sherlock stood from his bed and gathered his clothes and shower items. John yawned and rubbed his stomach, tiredly leaning over his bunk to watch Sherlock among the other waking cabin mates, noting Sebastian had left early, seeing as how he wasn't there.

"'Morning," He muttered tiredly.

"Good morning," mumbled Sherlock as he went through his bag for a towel, holding one out in front of him once he found it.

The blond messily ran his fingers through his hair and rested his cheek against the wood of his bunk and closed his eyes, hearing Anderson speak which caused Sherlock to scoff.

"Anderson, my brain already doesn't function to its full extent right when I wake up, I don't need you to hinder it any further," Sherlock snapped at the clarinet player before he headed towards the shower.

John snickered from the top bunk, causing Greg to sigh as he walked past Anderson, out of the cabin with a shake of his head. John jumped down from the top bunk, taking a minute to gather himself before pulling out his clothes for today, beginning to change with a sigh. He was still vaguely tired. He grabbed his jacket and headed out, rubbing his face with his hands as he headed towards the restroom, yawning loudly.

Sherlock, who never enjoyed lengthy showers, was already finished with his. He was standing in front of the sink brushing his teeth with one hand and toweling off his wet curls with the other. Today he was sporting a dark purple button up with a pair of dark blue jeans. The taller male, who was more awake now, greeted the other though the suds, "Good Mming,"

John rubbed his eyes, laughing softly as he took out his own toothbrush. "Didn't we already have this conversation?" He asked tiredly and began to brush his teeth, eyes lingering on the other in the mirror.

Sherlock spat out in the sink and rinsed his mouth out before he responded, "Did we? I must say, we should invest in some duct tape for Anderson's mouth, I could feel my IQ rapidly depleting whenever I hear his voice,"

With a nod John laughed, "There's some in the lobby I could snag," The trumpet player muttered before spitting into the sink, splashing cold water onto his face.

Sherlock smirked, "Please do, then he wouldn't be able to play his instrument. Two birds, one stone," He dropped his toothbrush in his small bag before properly turning to the other, "If we get enough then perhaps we could do the whole world a favor and silence the whole section,"

John was laughing more at this point, looking up to Sherlock with a smile as he nodded. "No one likes the clarinets anyway. I can hear them squeak from across the field," John took care of his own toothbrush and yawned, stretching his arms out.

"I could hear them from the orchestra room," Sherlock commented as he leaned against the counter, waiting for John so that they could leave together. While he waited he brought up both hands and vigorously ruffled his still damp hair with a towel.

John looked at the other, smiling, "We should probably head to breakfast now," He reached over and messed up the drying curls as he walked past, holding the door open as he waited for the other to catch up.

The curly haired teen paused for a split second at the friendly gesture, but quickly disregarded it as he took hold of his things and caught up to John.

"You're right," Sherlock agreed as he walked up the steps of their cabin and walking in, "And hopefully we won't be late to practice today,"

John couldn't help, but to chuckle as they entered their cabin, licking over his lips with a nod. "I'm too sore to run any more laps," the trumpeter checked his phone, seeing that they had fifteen minutes until breakfast.

"Surely marching can't be that hard on you. All you're really doing is glorified walking," Sherlock set his shower things back in his suit case.

The blond paused, turning to look at Sherlock, "You're kidding right?"

The violinist gave a surprised look at the other, "I don't 'kid'. It's the truth though, all you're doing is sauntering about the field,"

John's face dropped a bit before he gave a frown, "I'd like to see you do it,"

"I would, but there's no real need for me to do so, so I simply won't," Sherlock replied as he started towards the door, opening it, "Coming?"

The trumpet player pulled his lips into a tight line, stubbornly standing in place.

"What? Did I say something wrong?" The violinist's tone took a rare turn to the confused.

"No, nothing wrong. I'm just going to eat breakfast with the trumpet section and talk about how _easy_ marching band is," The blond gave a huff and moved past Sherlock, storming off with a childish huff.

Sherlock looked after the other with a slightly confused look. He wasn't quite sure what it was that he said that upset John, but he knew better than going after the other. He contented himself with simply strolling on his own down to the cafeteria, hands in his pockets.

John had indeed sat with his section that morning, though it wasn't as fun as sitting with Sherlock. They joked and messed around, but somehow breakfast just went by too slowly for his liking without Sherlock.

Sherlock on the other hand, ended up eating alone at a surprisingly empty table. He had a cup of coffee and a few bites of the French toast that had been prepared for them. It was odd eating alone, for once, he didn't have the obligation of holding small talk with someone. He could just concentrate on mentally composing music, but he must admit, it did feel a smidgeon lonely.

Once breakfast was over John walked with a dew of the flute players to get his instrument from the pavilion. Since most of the flute players were girls there had been a lot of giggling during their walk, causing him to depart from them with a smile.

John wiped the sweat off of his forehead with his forearm as he walked into the cafeteria at lunchtime. He glanced around the room, looking for a place to sit, but unfortunately most of the tables were full. There was an open seat next to Sherlock, but the blond was still a little bit upset about this morning to sit next to him. He looked around some more before finding a single empty seat at a table with his cabin mates.

"What's wrong Johnny boy, trouble in paradise?" Moriarty's sing-song voice greeted him.

"Can it," John glared, sitting down with his plate and water bottle, sighing. "What're you guys up to?" He looked over at Anderson and Sebastian, noticing that Lestrade was sitting with the teachers.

The saxophone player chuckled, "Oh, just planning a small little prank on those orchestra students,"

John looked over his shoulder at Sherlock who was scribbling in his sheet music, then looked back to James with a raised eyebrow, "What kind of prank?"

Moriarty gave an amused glance around the table before leaning in and quieting his voice slightly so as not to be heard. "I have a couple of spray bottles in my suit case. What we're planning is to fill them with water and spray the string instruments,"

"What!?" John gasped, his eyes widened and his lips pressed into a line, "Won't that ruin them?"

"If they don't get wiped off in time then it could, but if it does happen to do damage it shouldn't be too bad, not that I care either way," James leaned back in his seat with a smug grin on his face, "So are you going to help us or not?"

"I-" John swallowed, scowling for a moment, bigger intentions in mind, "Yeah, I'll help," he gave a nod.

Another amused glance went around the table.

"Great," Moriarty smirked devilishly before downing his glass of water and standing up, "We better get going then,"

The saxophone player put his hands in his pockets and sauntered off towards the door. John looked over to Sherlock as he stood before following James out of the cafeteria, along with Sebastian who was trying not to blow Anderson's brains out as the annoying clarinet talked.

"Okay, lunch ends soon so try to spray as many instruments as possible. We want to be in and out so we won't get caught," James explained as they snuck into the orchestra room, spray bottles in hand and at the ready.

John followed close behind, opening a few cases and giving a few squirts to an instrument, making sure not to do permanent damage. He felt terrible for doing this, but continued to do so, coming across a familiar case that made him feel instantly guilty: Sherlock's. Instead of opening the case he made sure his cabin mates weren't looking and pushed it under the table with the toe of his tennis shoes, scowling at himself.

"What is it that you're all doing?" A deep voice came from the open doorway, "You're not to even be in here, you're not in orchestra."

John jumped at the voice, dropping his spray bottle behind the table as he turned, getting a sinking feeling in his chest as he saw James smirk.

"Nothing Sherlock, just checking out the room," James stated coolly, his voice calm as if they weren't just ruining instruments.

Sherlock stepped inside of the room and took in the scene, "You wouldn't need spray bottles if you were just simply observing the room," Green eyes flicked over to John, and the ever growing puddle of water at the blond's feet. Quickly Sherlock crossed the room and got to his case, opening it to inspect the damage. The violinist picked up his bow, which was now only held together by the strings and turned to face the rest of the room, his voice filled with pure rage, "Who did this?"

Everyone in the room was silent, John's eyes widened. He swallowed and took a step forward, "Uh, I did it Sherlock, I didn't mean to, the bottle spilt and-"

"And what? You broke my bow. What am I to play with now? First off you were in here damaging instruments and now you snapped my bow in two. Are you proud of yourself!?" The violinist's voice barely rose above his regular speaking volume, but the silence of the room mixed with the rage had amplified it. The trumpet player barely had time to open his mouth before Sherlock started again. "I thought you were better John, I expected it from Anderson and the troubling duo, but you?" The violinist shook his head and spoke softly, "Out, all of you. Now." He stressed the final word.

Seeing as how Sherlock rarely ever got this angry, everyone quickly followed his command with startled looks. He looked down at the piece of wood in his hands, he could easily get a new bow, the Marshal Music worker was there after all, but he didn't want a new one. The now broken one in his hands was the bow he'd been using for twelve years now; it held sentimental value, even for Sherlock Holmes.

John felt terrible, and the smug look on James' face didn't help. The angry trumpet walked up to Moriarty, putting his hand on the alto sax's shoulder.

"You set me up! You knew that was going to happen," John angrily accused the other, wanting to wipe that damn smirk off of his face. "Why James, why? Jealous that Sherlock will show me some endearment and not you?" John wasn't a violent man, but he held the collar of James' shirt, which seemed to push Sebastian over the edge seeing that John felt a fist against his eye, causing the blond to groan and release the black haired male, who looked genuinely hurt behind his cocky smirk.

"I never planned on actually breaking something like you idiotically did. If I'm not mistaken, that was his first bow, ooh, he must hate you now," Jim gave a small chuckle, "Let's be glad he has too much pride to tell on us, we could be sent home, especially you,"

John felt his heart sink, one hand holding his bloody eye as Sebastian made sure to watch the smaller man like a hawk. John took a sharp inhale and tensed his jaw as he turned away from the two, planning on going to the nurse and make up some story for his eye.

"They were right", John thought, "Sherlock must hate me now."

"Oh, dear!" The nurse exclaimed upon sight of John, "What did you do to your eye?"

John was still holding onto his left eye, his other hand coming up into a half shrug, hopefully making the origin of the wound seem a bit more innocent.

"I was going for a jog on one of the trails and I wasn't paying attention. Long story short, I ran into a low hanging branch," The blond lied.

"Well sit down, I'll take a look," The nurse gave a worried expression and put a hand on the blond's shoulder as she led him to the table and grabbed her medical bag. With a sigh she wrapped her boney fingers around John's wrist to pull his hand away from it so she could examine the wound.

With a small hiss John peeled his hand away from his eye. The middle aged woman gave him another worried look before gingerly touching the swollen skin around his eye. The blond clenched his fists at the contact, but didn't make any move to stop her. The nurse went to her bag and took out a cotton swab, disinfectant a, and a very small Band-Aid. She cleaned the small cut that was on the bridge of the student's nose, and put a bandage on it.

She stood and went towards an icebox to put ice in a bag for John, "It's not as bad as it could be, but I want you to rest for now. I know it has nothing to do with your feet, but until the swelling goes down a bit I'd rather you just stay in your cabin,"

The blond gave a sigh as he knit his eyebrows together, before realizing that hurt far too much. The blond gave a small smile as the nurse returned with and ice bag, handing it to John as he gingerly placed it over his eye.

"Damn my eye," He whined slightly at the thought of missing practice.

"You may be hurt, but that's no excuse for language like that. Now off to your cabin, I have to call your teacher to let him know not to expect you," The nurse waved the other off as she went to pick up her phone.

John tried to give the nurse a small smile to show that he was thankful for the help, but it turned into a grimace as he walked out of the room. He headed to his cabin, grumbling, he came here to practice, not to sit in his cabin over a hurt eye.

Once in his cabin he moodily shut the door behind him and climbed up to his bunk.

"What a day this turned out to be," John grumbled to himself, holding the ice pack as he closed his eye as best he could with a sigh. It was about ten minutes in silence before he heard the door click open, his first thought being, "God, please don't be Sherlock," The blond rolled over in his bed to see none other than Mycroft.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, a puzzled look on his face.

"Well I got a phone call from the nurse, she had told me that you were to rest here in your cabin. I let Lestrade take over the practice, seeing as how they're just cleaning up the drill that they've already learned. I just thought that I would pop by, ask how you got hurt, you know, fill my adult supervisor obligations," Mycroft stood in front of the bunk, hands behind his back and looking up to John.

John groaned and nodded, slowly climbing down the ladder of his bed to come to Mycroft's level, though he was quite a bit shorter than the other, "Well I'm fine. Just went barking up the wrong tree," He gave a chuckle as he adjusted the ice pack on his eye.

The instructor raised an eyebrow, "According to my sources you had ran into a tree rather than barking up it. Am I correct?"

The blond nodded, "Yeah, I was just jogging on one of the trails and this happened," he gestured to his eye.

Mycroft gave a suspicious face, but decided not to call John out on his lying, "Well I see. You were alone?"

"Yeah, I know we're supposed to be in groups of three on the paths, but I just wanted to clear my mind," John shrugged, hoping his excuse would get him out of trouble.

"Anything that involves Sherlock?" Mycroft's tone seemed a slight bit more interested.

John's lips turned into a slight frown, but he quickly shrugged the other off, "No, it's just that marching wears you down and it just makes you think. I bet everyone's going to need some alone time eventually this week,"

Mycroft's brow furrowed as he looked to the other before speaking in a serious tone, "Not Sherlock, he gets enough of that at home, trust me. What he needs is someone that's there for him, someone he could go to, someone that can handle him, and from what I see, you fit that description perfectly. Once man to another, could you promise me this, stay be my brother, even if it seems he doesn't want you to. He _needs_ it,"

A stunned look came across John's face, "I don't think that your brother wants anything to do with me at the moment,"

"Why is that?" Mycroft asked, his tone skeptical, his fingers lacing together as he became more interested in the situation.

John chuckled nervously, trying to shrug off the question, "Oh, you know Sherlock, always getting upset over little things,"

"Oh, well it it's just something little then wouldn't it be simple for you two to, what's the phrase? Kiss and make up?" Mycroft chuckled, "It's not as if you broke his violin. To be honest that thing is probably more valuable than his own life to him. It was a gift from our Father you know," John's face went from mildly amused and immediately dropped to a pale face of mortification, causing Mycroft to furrow his brow in confusion, "What's wrong?"

"I broke his bow on accident!" exclaimed John.

The instructor's face turned into a grimace as he cast a disappointed look towards John, "You… what?"

John lowered his voice, "I dropped a bottle on his case and somehow it snapped the bow in two. I- I feel terrible," he lowered his head, unable to look Mycroft in the eye.

"What were you doing around the orchestra instruments in the first place?" The taller male asked gravely.

"Moriarty let me in on a prank for the orchestra students, my intentions were to keep Sherlock's from getting damaged, but my plan obviously backfired," The trumpeter heaved a sigh.

"I could send you home for this," Mycroft simply said, his voice quiet.

John's heart fell, "I know, it's what I deserve for acting like such an id-"

"But I'm not going to," Mycroft cut the teenager off, "Like I said, my brother needs someone like you. Consider my silence a favor that you'll be repaying with your loyalty to Sherlock,"

"What if he just doesn't want to speak with me?" John asked, slightly surprised at the other's proposition.

Mycroft had turned and was already half way out the door, he stopped and answered the worried trumpeter, "Well, you'll have to figure something out now won't you?" With that the instructor left, closing the door behind him.

With a frustrated huff John hit the frame of the bunk bed with his free hand. He started to pace the room, walking in a rectangular pattern.

"Sherlock, have you gotten any of Achilles' Wrath composed yet?" Mrs. Hudson asked, giving a slightly worried glance at the teenage boy. When she had come in to find him holding a broken bow he hadn't uttered a single word, just glared angrily at everything. She had been having him play the music pizzicato so that he wouldn't just be sitting there.

"I finished the beginning choral section in the very beginning," Sherlock spoke, his voice still tense from earlier. He flipped to the back of the binder where he had kept his score folder, but it wasn't there when he checked, "I must have left it in my cabin,"

"You can go on and get it if you like, or we could just continue practicing what we already have," the kind woman suggested.

Sherlock stood, setting his violin down, "I'll go and get it,"

He quickly walked to his cabin, opening the door to find a pacing blond holding an ice pack to his eye.

"Sherlock! Before you say anything I just wanted to let you know I feel absolutely terrible for what I did, and I know what your instrument means to you. It was Moriarty, I was still annoyed with you so I went along with it and I tried to keep your instrument from getting hurt, but then I dropped my bottle and it broke your bow. I promise, I'll pay for a new one and I'll compensate you for every penny I owe you and-" The blond was rambling, but cut himself off when he felt a pair of arms awkwardly wrap around him.

"John, I'd appreciate it if you just stopped talking. It's annoying me," Sherlock spoke.

"You're not mad?" John asked, surprised by the other's actions.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't mad, but it does nothing for me if I just continuously sulk about it," Sherlock unwrapped his arms from John, "Like I've said before, everyone does stupid things and I hate doing stupid things, so therefore I will forgive you,"

John gave a sigh of relief, feeling a little awkward as the hug ended, causing him to take a step backward and chuckle, "I am really sorry though… So, are we cool now?"

Sherlock gave the other a confused look, "Well it's ninety eight degrees outside, so I would imagine we're anything, but cool,"

John rolled his eyes, "You're such a smart ass,"

Sherlock gave a soft smile, "Your eye is quite an improvement." The curly haired teen joked to the elder, "I'd like to say it's terrible you found yourself some trouble, but my irrational anger is getting in the way of my remorse," the taller ale crouched down to look at John's eye, lightly ghosting his fingers over the edges of the bruising.

John unintentionally winced at the touch, taking note that his bruising was becoming more sensitive.

"Don't be a child," Sherlock's mouth curled into a slight smile as he moved John's ice pack aside to view the full effects of the damage the trumpet player had taken, "I'm guessing Sebastian, seeing by the pattern and force of your bruising. You must have crossed a rather bold line to make him snap like that,"

John nodded the best he could, looking up at Sherlock as he tested the bandaging. "Yeah, I think I broke James too. He looked very hurt before I got punched in the eye," The blond gave a soft sigh.

"James is over emotional. He gets hurt way too easy," Sherlock stood, checking his wrist watch, "I have to get back, try not to get yourself injured any further," He gave John a dismissive wave of his hand as the shorter male said goodbye. Sherlock grabbed his score folder and headed out of the cabin, leaving John once again, alone.

He sighed and hopped onto his bed, deciding it would be best to take a nap before everyone was rushing about. The male slowly dozed off, his mind hazing with thoughts as consciousness slipped from him.

John was roused by the sound of loud steps approaching the cabin, followed by the slamming of the door and angry shuffling and voices.

"James, I'm getting tired of your bull shit!" He noticed the brisk voice as Sebastian and instantly felt his face tense.

"Then leave, Seb. I'm obviously not holding you here, this is why you don't get attached," Jim's voice sounded ten degrees calmer than Sebastian's in every way possible and though John wasn't turned to see the duo, he could almost swear he felt the angry hear as it came off of Sebastian's face.

"What's wrong with you? Is this some sick way at trying to get back at Sherlock Holmes? Remember I was there for you when he didn't feel the same? Or are you too damn thick head to remember anything but this grudge?" John hadn't heard Sebastian talk a lot before, but he could tell this was anything, but his normal voice; he was furious.

There was a silence in the cabin before he heard awkward shuffling and what he was assuming became a hug between the two males. His ears might have been betraying him, but John swore he heard Jim mutter, "I'm sorry,"

John could tell that the short moment of affection was over when the door clicked open and he heard James sitting on his own bunk. In walked Lestrade and Anderson conversing about that day's drill, the clarinet player quickly grabbing his second drill sheet and then taking his leave with Lestrade. He heard the door open once again and John turned over to see the only remaining cabin mate enter with a long slim package, and a generally satisfied smile on his face, ignoring everyone else in the cabin.

"Where's your shadow Sherly?" James asked in his usual sing song voice.

The smile on Sherlock's face quickly fell and was replaced by a scowl. With his free hand Sherlock brought a finger to his own lips and nodded his head towards the top bunk, "He's sleeping. I would imagine it would be possible even for someone with as big a mouth as you to be able to shut up long enough to give someone a few moments peace,"

Jim fell silent and John decided it was time to make his presence known.

"I'm not sleeping… anymore," He added the last part as he sat up in his bunk, barely having room between his head, which was now throbbing, and the ceiling. He rubbed his healthy eyes and looked as James smirked.

"Quite a shiner you've got Watson,"

"You like it? I could give you one just like it," John said as he started to make his way off of his bunk.

"Down, boy," Sherlock said as he pinched the back of John's T-shirt the moment his feet hit the ground, though Sherlock never took his eyes off of the package in his hand as he read the back.

"Come on Sherlock, an eye for an eye, literally," John whined slightly, eying the saxophone player who remained seated across from them.

James crossed one leg over the other as he laced his fingers together. Sherlock simply took a fistful of the cloth and pulled John down onto his bunk, causing John to huff at the sudden actions.

"We don't need another reason for you to have to be sent home. Mycroft can only do so much you know," Sherlock muttered into John's ear.

John was slightly taken aback, if Sherlock knew Mycroft had pulled some strings to keep John there, did he know about what Mycroft had included to the terms and conditions to staying here? With a sigh John gave up and sat next to Sherlock, looking over the package.

"New bow?"

Sherlock protectively pulled the package closer to his body before turning to look at John, "Yes it is, and you must understand when I say this, you are not allowed to touch it,"

John wasn't too upset with that anyways, "Alright, alright," He gave a soft smile up at Sherlock, making shire he wasn't what would be 'too close' to his bow.

James walked towards the duo and gripped the end of the package that Sherlock wasn't gripping and pulled it out of his grip. He held it in his hands, eyeing it up and down, "It looks to be pretty long Sherly, overcompensating for something?"

Sherlock stood, but didn't snatch the packaged bow back. He didn't want to risk damaging it, "You never seemed to complain, then again I've learned that you take whatever you can get," Green eyes flicked over to Sebastian, "That's more than evident."

James' eyebrows knitted together, and John did what would be the equivalent of a face palm as he sighed, Sherlock was going to land himself in a morgue if he kept up his attitude towards Jim and Sebastian.

Sebastian, who had been nonchalantly leaning against James' bedframe had crossed the room and was now standing chest to chest with Sherlock, brown eyes glaring into green.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Simply what I said, James will take whatever he can get," Sherlock spoke, unfazed by the position he was in.

Sebastian was rather upset, his eyes never quite losing their anger from James' and his fight earlier. He glared at Sherlock, seeing their height was rather similar, and clenched his fists.

"Watch yourself Holmes," Was all the man said as he pulled away, storming out of the cabin and leaving James to sigh in his wake.

The violinist's eyes flicked back to his bow, not trusting it in the hands of James Moriarty.

"Now that there's one less idiot in the room, do you mind giving me my bow back?" Sherlock's tone more demanding than asking.

James' eyes flickered to the door his lover had just left through before handing over the bow.

"I better go take care of him before he starts to plan your murder. Only I'm allowed to do that," James chimed as he left.

A smirk appeared on Sherlock's face as the door closed the second time.

"And we all know how well those half-hearted plans go," He muttered as he sat back down on his bed next to John.

Sherlock placed his still packaged bow on his bed next to the wall, feeling a bit more secure about it not constantly being in his hands now that James and Sebastian weren't in the cabin.

John's face held a rather unintentional look of disapproval as he looked over at Sherlock.

"Really Sherlock," John started, "You shouldn't push those two that far. It might come back on you,"

Sherlock merely scoffed and gave that genuine half smirk on his face. "Oh please, James wouldn't lay a hand on me and his henchman doesn't even possess half the brain to think of a plan elaborate enough to get me in the position of being in danger,"

John gestured to his swollen eye, "Well he obviously has no problem with hurting your friends, doesn't that bother you?"

"I don't have friends John, and your eye was your own fault. I didn't ask for you to do whatever it was that caused Sebastian to hit you so I feel no guilt whatsoever." Sherlock explained.

For a moment John looked rather hurt by the fact Sherlock didn't consider him a friend, even after he'd been thrown into his and James' crazy grudge match.

"You know it wouldn't kill you to let a few people in every now and then," John's voice sounded very melancholy and cold.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, slightly confused, "You seem a bit… disappointed, or sad all of a sudden,"

"Honestly Sherlock, it's nothing," John tried to come odd like he didn't care, biting the inside of his cheek, "Mycroft came to see me today,"

"Obviously it's not nothing," Sherlock muttered,"Oh really? What did he want with you?"

"He just thought it would it's be polite to check on me. He told me about how important your violin is to you," John gave a nod, playing with the sleeve hems on his T-shirt and having to stop himself from saying anything he shouldn't, "He told me about your inability to get close to people,"

Sherlock scoffed, turning his body to the side so he could look out the window. He put his hand behind him to lean on as he became a bit more comfortable.

"It's not an inability, it's a choice. I'd rather keep my relationships with people on a more professional level because that's all I care for," Sherlock turned his head back to John, "Besides, Mycroft doesn't have much room to talk, he doesn't have friends either,"

The blond sighed and turned to look at Sherlock, raising an eyebrow, "so… no girlfriend?" Sherlock shook his head, giving a small scoff. After a moment of silence John cleared his throat, "No… boyfriend?" Sherlock stopped his train of thought and looked up at John.

"I prefer to keep all my relationships on a more professional level," Sherlock looked out the window to see the Chinese exchange student conversing with Anderson. Who would ever want to converse with Anderson? E turned back to find John looking at him, causing Sherlock to add, "What?"

"Oh nothing," John shook his head, "It's just odd is all. Most guys only think about girls,"

"What about you then?" Sherlock asked, "Anybody significant?"

"Uh, no," John shook his head, he really didn't keep connections with people. He'd been with a handful of girls over the summer, but never anything serious, he was terrible with relationships. "I'd rather focus on school," what a lie, he thought. It was just that he would forget names and facts, and normally get walked out on.

"Oh, I see," Sherlock arched his eyebrows in interest, "You never really struck me as someone who would rather focus on school to be honest," The violinist had seen John around the school a few times, and he was always with a friend or two, and at the football games that James had forced Sherlock to foo t, John had a great group of people around him, "You just seem to have a group of friends that would distract you,"

It's true, John normally had many people around him during the year, but during summer he fell irrationally lonely. "I wouldn't exactly call them friends," The end of the year brought a fight which ended most of his friendships. "I'm not doing very good in school. It's only make sense for me to try a bit harder," John laughed nervously. He'd fallen behind sophomore year, and wasn't planning on letting it happen again.

"With grammar like that it's no wonder you're not doing so _well_ in school," Sherlock stressed the word well, "If you want , perhaps I could help you once school starts up,"

John scrunched his brows together at the correction, "Really? That'd be amazing Sherlock, if it's not a bother on your part of course," John had offered the other a small smile.

"Seeing as how school is just a tedious thing that I'm required by law to attend, it shouldn't be a bother. Even if it were, isn't that what a friend does for another friend?" Sherlock smirked to the other.

The blond raised an eyebrow, a smug look on his face, "I thought you didn't have friends,"

"That's right, I don't have friends, that's plural. I only have one friend, you," Sherlock answered the other, the confidence in his eyes chipped away slightly to show a sliver of fear, fear of being wrong and alone.

John opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find anything that's be appropriate for the situation so he simply reached out and grabbed Sherlock, pulling him into a hug that was less awkward than the first. Sherlock tensed at first, not exactly used to the contact, but after a second he slowly returned the hug.

"We aren't going to be hugging this often though, right?" Sherlock asked.

John laughed and shook his head, pulling back, "No, it just seemed to be the best thing to do,"

Sherlock smirked as he looked at John, "That's what Hitler said about the Holocaust."

"… Out of all the people I could choose to be friends with, why I chose you will always be a mystery," John laughed, "Plus, I believe a hug is more innocent than the Holocaust,"

"That'll depend on who you ask, or who you hug," Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and took out his phone to check the time, "For example a hug between a small child and a sexual predator wouldn't be so innocent,"

"You're such a smart ass, maybe Sebastian should've given you a good punch," John teased.

"He could go ahead and do it," Sherlock tapped his left cheek, "He's already done it before, hurt his hand more than he expected to I take it,"

John's eyes widened slightly, "Seriously? I'm surprised James didn't get rid of him for that,"

Sherlock nodded, "James needs Sebastian, or at least someone like Sebastian. He needs a constant, someone to keep him grounded,"

"James isn't the only one," John stated, using a teasing tone though giving a rather serious look.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean by that?"

"Your head is in the clouds more often than not. While trying to think of the words to describe you, grounded wouldn't cross my mind," The blond gave a nod.

"I wouldn't say that my head is in the clouds," In a quieter voice Sherlock added, "Mind palace, now that's a different story,"

"Mind palace?" John asked, turning on the bed so his foot was underneath him.

"Yes, mind palace. It's a made up location, theoretical that is. It's a theory, but I believe that if you put something you need or want to remember in this mind palace, you should be able to remember it as long as you can find your way back to it," The violinist explained.

"So… it's like a map of your intelligence?" He questioned, looking up at the other.

"You could call it that, I suppose," Sherlock nodded.

"That's actually a very good idea," John gave a small laugh, checking his phone. They had a little over an hour left of break.

"I know it's a good idea, I came up with it," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"Cocky much?" John laughed, running a hand through his blond hair.

"I prefer the term self-aware," The violinist smirked at the other.

"Either way, you have far too much of an ego for your own good," John gave a half smirk at the other, yawning softly.

Sherlock scoffed at the remark. "Tired?" he asked, "You haven't even marched much at all and you took a nap,"

John rolled his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, "I got about twenty minutes of sleep before James and Sebastian decided to have a lover's quarrel in the cabin,"

Sherlock scrunched his nose, "They didn't- did they?"

"Oh, God no," John shook his head, "They just fought, and then hugged, nothing too terrifying," The blond nudged the other, "Why? Jealous?"

The curly haired teen shook his head, "Not in the slightest. The thought itself is off putting, I wouldn't want to sleep in the same room it happened in for the remainder of the week,"

With a scoff, John nodded, "It's a very unwanted thought,"

"And memories," grumbled Sherlock under his breath.

"It couldn't have been that bad," John blinked, looking up at the other.

"You'd think that, but when James isn't allowed to let his marching band uniform touch the ground you learn just how uncomfortable it can get," Sherlock cringed at the memory.

John gave a soft scoff, not knowing whether to be amused or disturbed, "I know firsthand how hard that is," The teen ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

The violinist arched his eyebrows in interest, "Really now?"

John rolled his eyes, shaking his head, "I am a teenage boy. I'm going to do stuff like that. Don't see why it'd surprise you,"

"I never said I was surprised," Sherlock turned to look out the window.

"You looked it," John stated matter-of-factly.

"No I didn't," Sherlock's voice rose in pitch ever so slightly.

The trumpeter crossed his arms, glaring slightly, "Whatever you say,"

The curly haired teen glanced at John, "What's with that look?"

"I'm not giving you a look," John looked the other way, drumming his fingers.

"Yes you were, with your eyes, you looked angry," He gestured to John's face.

John didn't look back to the other, he simply shook his head. The older of the two was going to reply with a smart comment before he remembered what Mycroft had said about being there for Sherlock. He sighed and glanced at the other, "Sorry Sherlock, I didn't mean to come off like that,"

"Why would you be sorry?" Did you do anything wrong that I don't know about? Perhaps you ran around cutting the strings off of my violin?" Sherlock asked, "Or threw it into the lake?"

John gave a fleeting smile, "Of course not Sherlock. I said I was sorry about your violin," The blond once again turned himself to face the other.

"I know you're sorry, most people wouldn't come off as that annoying if they weren't sincere," The violinist gave the other a small half smile, "I wouldn't hug someone I didn't believe was sincere either,"

The blond chuckled and became slightly flustered, "Sorry about the whole hugging thing also,"

Sherlock chuckled, not exactly sure how to respond. The two sat in a comfortable silence, relishing in the quiet that rarely ever occurs at band camp.

"You never did answer my question," The younger of the two broke the silence, "About your past, more specifically, your life in England,"

John was quiet for a moment, giving a small sigh before nodding. "Dad had some drinking problems, most parents do, right? He caused a lot of fights, a lot of trouble for us, I guess." The teen sighed and found himself avoiding Sherlock's eyes. "Harry didn't get accepted at home, so she went to the streets, she found a family that she thought accepted her for who she was. What they really did was get her into drugs and fights. Eventually dad found her stash- He was, oh, he was furious." John stopped for a moment, looking up at the ceiling and figuring it'd be a good place to let his eyes remain for the time being. "It just happened and I was the closest thing for him to hit. I never said anything, never did anything; I really didn't even understand what had happened till it was over. It went on like that, for a while. Whenever he'd come home a little too buzzed I'd be the one paying for it." He licked over his lips. He voice lacked emotion that normal people would have being in this situation, it sounded as if he was reading a script of a complete strangers life, like the remorse he felt for the characters in the story was merely a write in for his terrible acting skills to portray. "I was only eleven, every child wants to be 'cool' like their older siblings, they want to be able to go to parties and…" He paused for a moment, letting the tension of the silence settle. "Well, people don't really like it when you bring your eleven year old brother to a drug deal. So, obviously, it caused a bit of conflict and I ended up on the wrong side of a gun. Can you imagine? Being eleven and looking down the barrel of a gun as your older sister gets held down. It's not fun, it's even less fun when you get shot in the shoulder and left in an alleyway." John groaned as he brought his legs up in a criss cross fashion, lifting a hand to roll up the sleeve of his tee shirt and flash a rather nasty scar on his left shoulder. "After that the doctor's found the marks and dad got put in jail, mom started trying to quit drugs and Harry went to rehab. We waited until the trial was over and then mom decided it'd be a good idea to try again, to move to America with Harry and I and try to start over like it never happened. I guess thinking about it now it feels like it never really did happen."

Sherlock eyed the cloth that hid the other's scar, honestly, he was shocked. The way John acted, he was just like any other teenager with a rocky relationship with his family. Never would he have guessed that John had gone through all of that.

"Do you just let it happen then?" Sherlock asked, feeling an unexplainable feeling of anger, "What if the doctor didn't see anything and sent you on your own merry way back home, just to be sent back by your father?"

John blinked, finally looking over at the other, "I was eleven Sherlock. Of course I was going to let it happen," With a quick inhale John spoke, "You're the first person in America I've told that to,"

Sherlock arched his eyebrows, "Oh really? That's an…" He paused, looking for the right word, "Honor,"

The teen laughed and looked past Sherlock, giving a half-hearted smile, "Oh please, it's just… well, it's not like you're going to tell anyone," John licked his lips nervously before adding, "Besides, I trust you,"

"You trust me? But we've only just met," The violinist gave the other a slightly confused look.

"I could sit and list the reasons why, but I don't think either of us need that," John gave a raise of his eyebrow, "I just… feel like I'm supposed to trust you, it's natural,"

Sherlock stood from the bed and walked to the other side of the room. He gripped the top of the empty bunk lightly, his eyes flicking around in front of him, but not quite taking anything in. After a moment he slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder.

"_Supposed_ to trust me?" The violinist repeated the other.

"Well, yes," John nodded, positioning himself so his legs were dangling off the bed and he was facing Sherlock, "I suppose that's the best way to put it,"

"I see," Sherlock said, turning around to face the other. He felt his phone vibrate softly in his pocket so he took it out. He had set an alarm on his phone earlier that day to go off so he wouldn't be late for meal times, which in this case was to start in ten minutes. "John, dinner is going to start soon, I suggest that we start heading towards the cafeteria if we don't want to be late," The curly haired teen slowly started to walk towards the door of their cabin.

The blond jumped up a little too fast, causing him to become a bit dizzy, but he figured it'd pas as he followed the other out of the cabin.

"Okay, everyone, I want you all to practice on your own for the next half hour," Mrs. Hudson smiled to the orchestra from her spot on the podium.

The room was quickly filled with the sounds of random phrases being played at varying speeds and soft murmurs. Sherlock flipped his music binder to the very back where he kept empty sheets. He picked up his bow and played a few experimenting notes on his violin. He lifted his bow, took a deep breath, and then played the same notes, but longer and more fluidly. The violinist continued to play, adding an arpeggio at the end of the phrase. He put his bow down so he could write notes onto the empty sheet.

"What're you doing Sherlock? Composing something new?" Mrs. Hudson asked, putting a friendly hand on the teenager's shoulder.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, I figured I would have the time to compose something original while at camp, even with the project you've given me. Achilles' Wrath is rather simple, all I need to do is write in supporting chords and transpose the melody, it's all in here," he tapped the side of his head with his pencil, "All I need to do is write it down."

"Oh, I see. What are you going to compose this time then? A waltz? You've got plenty of those,"

The violinist shook his head, "No, not exactly… Perhaps a lullaby this time,"

John had barely gotten ten minutes into practice until he bent over to grab his drill sheet and found his swollen eye pressed against a rather sharp, quick moving elbow. "Ouch, fuck!" The blond exclaimed as his hands came up to cover his eye, teeth gritted together.

"Oh, I's so sorry," A rather foreign voice chimed, lightly placing a hand on the shorter male's shoulder. John looked up and saw the Chinese exchange student, Soo-Lin Yoo, eyes wide.

"You're fine," John forced out through his teeth as he straightened his back.

"Watson!" He heard Greg call from the podium, "What's the hold up?" The drum major yelled, causing the band to quiet to a dull roar.

"My eye," John called back, "It's fine, I just," he pulled his hand back, blood trickling on his fingers as he realized Soo-Lin had reopened his cut.

"Sit on the side lines, let Corey tape you up," Lestrade demanded, pointing to the side line tent where the nurse Corey sat.

The blond hustled to the sidelines, bending his head down slightly so he could enter the tent. The nurse Corey, immediately saw the teenage boy and cast him a worried glance.

"Are you sure you're feeling well enough to march tonight?" She asked as she was gingerly wiping away the blood from the cut.

"I'm going to be fine," The blond winced, bearing through her cleaning his cut with alcohol, applying a fresh bandage. Once she was done, John went to stand to find himself spinning, or better put, his vision was spinning, causing the poor boy to attempt to take a step and lock one ankle with the other and topple over, landing on something rather soft and a little longer.

"I don't believe Mr. Watson is well enough to march today. I'll look after him, ma'am," Chimed Mycroft, being the person that John had fallen against, and was now pushing against to force himself upward.

"I'd have to say the same, thank you Mycroft," Corey offered a sweet smile to the duo, gesturing them to a pair of chairs where they could continue to watch the band from under the tent.

With the help of Mycroft gripping onto John's shoulder to balance him the blond plopped himself down on one of the folding chairs. He leaned himself back and covered his face gently with his hands, sighing.

"So, how is Sherlock doing? Did you two solve your problem?" Mycroft asked as he sat down, crossing one leg over the other.

"Sherlock and I are fine Mycroft," The blond mumbled out, exhaling deeply as he glanced over to the other, "Why is it a concern?'

"I've told you before that my younger brother isn't the most social of people, especially after Father's passing," The adult paused, choosing his words carefully, "I am rather concerned about him, not that he's alone now, but rather he'll never know anything, but being alone."

"Well, I know that," John looked over to the elder Holmes, "He seems perfectly normal around me, he even let himself call me his only friend," The trumpet player gave a short laugh.

Mycroft arched his eyebrows at the remark, "Friend? Now that's a term that I haven't heard my brother use to describe anyone, not even James when they were close," the adult sat back in his seat, chuckling softly, "Well, then again, there was Bluebell,"

With a small smile John raised an eyebrow, "Bluebell?"

The man nodded, "Yes, Bluebell, he was a rabbit that Sherlock had gotten rather attached to when he was about three. He had seen it in a shop window and wouldn't be quiet until we got it for him," Mycroft chuckled, "To be honest Sherlock acted the most normal with Bluebell, you couldn't separate him from the rabbit. Unfortunately, the rabbit slipped from his grip one day when they were playing pirates, and, well ran into the street. That's when Father had introduced Sherlock to the violin,"

John had nodded a few times with the story, smiling slightly, "It's hard to believe the Sherlock could be that way with anyone,"  
"Indeed, it could have just been that the rabbit couldn't talk back to him," Mycroft stood, "But seeing as how he's met you I don't have to worry about investing in another rabbit. I should get back to the field to make sure the drill is running smoothly," The grown man crouched hi head slightly as he left the tent.

The trumpet player gave Mycroft a curt nod, and a quick thanks before the other left, leaving Jon alone to think. Out of all the people he could trust, why Sherlock?

"How in the world does this help us at all?" A certain violinist grumbled under his breath as all the students were being ushered into a large room with tables that had board games on them that were set up.

"Oh, come on Sherlock, it'll be fun," The smaller blond said by his side, "They even have chess,"

"Chess?" Sherlock asked, his tone slightly interested, "Would you play with me?"

"I'd love to if I knew how to play," John looked over to the table, a black haired male with ebony eyes peering back at him, "I think James would though,"

The violinist looked over at the chess table, a determined look on his face, "He seems to, yes indeed," He walked over to the table, seating himself across from the saxophone player, "Care for a game James?"

James smiled innocently, "Oh, I'd love a game Sherlock," The saxophone plucked up the king, twirling it between his fingers with a smirk, "So, what's the betting?"

Sherlock scoffed, "I would say the usual, but there's no way in Hell I'd do that,"

John furrowed his brows and looked back and forth between the two, grabbing a chair to pull up as he tried to comprehend what the usual bet would be.

"What a shame," James sighed halfheartedly, "How about… if you lose, you have to slow dance with me at the dance on Thursday," The black haired male dug his nail into the plastic piece in his hand.

"And if I win?" Sherlock asked calmly, ignoring John's rather disapproving face.

Dark eyes flicked over to the confused face of John, "What do you want?"

"Nothing you have to offer me," Sherlock spoke, trying to think of an award for himself, "So… how about, if I win, John gets your solo,"

Before John had time to object James interrupted, "Deal," he held out his hand, an innocent smirk on his face.

The violinist gripped the other's hand, giving him a quick, binding handshake.

"So, who will move first?" Sherlock leaned back in his chair, an air of confidence around him.

Without answering, James places his king back down and took hold of his pawn, moving it two spaces forward.

The game was, indeed, on.

"And I believe that's checkmate," A pair of eyes flickered in amusement, "So, you owe me a dance Thursday night Sherly. I'll see you there,"

James stood from the table with a devious smirk, giving the shocked violinist a wink before walking off. Sherlock had remained seated, glaring at the remaining pieces on the board and gripped his king, his knuckles turning white from the force.

John scooted his seat closer to Sherlock, a worried look on his face, "Are you alright? You did let him win, didn't you?"

Sherlock scoffed, "That's absolute nonsense, why would I ever let him win?"

"Then how could you lose? You're brilliant,"

"That's the problem, he is too," Sherlock took a deep breath before continuing, his voice turning into a growl, "He's been letting me win this entire time,"

John glanced around the room seeing that everybody was just about finishing up their games. Sherlock and James' chess game had taken longer than expected. He looked up at the wall clock, it was 9:55 and they were to be in their cabins at ten.

John stood up and placed a hand on the confused Sherlock's shoulder and leaned down so that his voice was a little louder than a whisper, "Come on Sherlock, we have to get back to the cabin,"

With a huff Sherlock threw down the king that was still in his hand and stormed out of the room, not bothering to wait for the other. John sighed as he used the table to steady himself, following with less enthusiasm after the other.

John had walked into the cabin to fins Sherlock nowhere in sight, grabbing the pile of clothes on his bed, along with his shower bag as he decided to head to the shower and get it over with. The blond checked his phone, seeing that it was 10:05 and seeing that most people would be settling into their cabins, leaving the bathroom empty except for one or two people getting a shower in before bed. It left the bathroom with a rather eerie feeling, though John ignored it and chose the shower he normally did, third from the from and got in, undressing in the section between the two curtains before getting into the water, the heated water and terrible water pressure actually proving to be very relaxing, luring John to close his eyes and enjoy the small moment of peace.

One of the showers turned off, leaving John with the confirmation that there was only one other person in the showers with him. With only the sound of his shower it left the bathroom a slight bit quieter, enough for John to hear a voice singing an angry tune. John leaned his head against the Shower wall listening to the voice as it echoed through the bathroom, if he wasn't mistaken it was Beethoven's fifth symphony.

He reached out a hand and turned the water off, the angry tune carrying even more now. John dried himself off and pulled on his clothes, sweats and a wife beater, and walked over to the other side of the bathroom, and the source of the music. He rounded the corner and saw Sherlock brushing his teeth, and currently humming.

"You have a beautiful voice Sherlock," The blond took out his own toothbrush to brush his own teeth as he watched the other in the mirror.

The violinist gave the other a cocky half smirk before spitting into the sink, his green eyes still giving away his anger from earlier.

John smiled at the other as he finished brushing his teeth. Once done the two walked back to the cabin together in silence, both too exhausted to come up with any small talk.

"Well, good night Sherlock," John broke the silence as he crawled into his bunk.

After a pause Sherlock responded to the other, "Good night John,"


	4. Wednesday

**Author's note: Hey! So, this chapter broke my heart to write, along with my co-writer's. So, I hope you all enjoy. I lied when I said the last chapter was the last JimLock, because I saw the opportunity to give this chapter a bunch of good JohnLock feels at the end, therefore there's of bit of hurt including JimLock/Sheriarty. Though, the end of this chapter and the next are completely Johnlock, so, enjoy. Rate and reviews are highly appreciated!**

Sebastian woke up to his alarm, which was on vibrate under his pillow. With an annoyed look, he reached up and gently shook James who was sleeping in the bunk adjacent to him. "Come on, James, time to wake up." Sebastian whispered as he sat up in his bunk.

"I will skin you." Jim sleepily groaned as he turned onto his other side.

"Jim, come on, I'm trying to save you from the low brass wake up call." Sebastian stood and leaned down next to Jim's ear. "And maybe if you hurry we could have some fun before wake up call."

The saxophone player immediately reacted to that. He grabbed his clothes and shower bag and all but ran to the door. The trombone player chuckled as he followed after James, letting the door loudly swing shut behind him.

Very soon after, John jolted awake from the sound of the door slamming as a late reaction. He had a very pessimistic grimace on his face as he thought of the day ahead of him. From what little he heard of the other two's conversation while he was still half asleep. He knew he didn't want to shower that morning, thank God he got to it last night, allowing him to give a slightly relieved sigh and get down off of his bunk and rifled through his bag in search of a pair of shorts.

"Wouldn't turning on the lights help you find what you're looking for?" A rather annoyed Sherlock asked as he started to sit up in his own bunk.

"I don't really want to wake up the other two if they're still sleeping." The blond pulled out a pair of shorts which he changed into. "I take you're still angry about last night?"

The curly haired teen sat on the edge of his bed, watching John after he'd finished changing. "Not particularly mad, more like seething." Sherlock sighed and leaned back in bed.

John gave a small scowl and grabbed a shirt, pulling it over his now bare torso with a sigh. "It's only a game, Sherlock."

"Yes, a game, a game that I lost. Not only did I lose, but now I have to slow dance with that pest. No telling what idea that would put into his cognitive mind." Sherlock let out a sigh as he brought his hands to his face and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

With a sigh John shifted onto Sherlock's bed beside the sleepy male. "It's a three minute dance, Sherlock." The blond offered with a supportive glance to the other.

"Three minutes is too long if it's with him." The curly haired teen maneuvered past John so he could get himself dressed. He buttoned up his shirt once he'd tugged it on, leaving the top button undone. "It will be absolutely unbearable; I'd rather jump off a building." He spoke as he pulled on his jeans.

John rolled his eyes as he stood, grabbing his jacking seeing as today's weather wouldn't be the best according to the weather map on his cell. "Just pretend you're somewhere else, with someone else." The blond shrugged and started as a matter of fact, Sherlock fixing his hair.

The violinist arched his eyebrows as he opened the door. "That's an interesting suggestion. I suppose I could imagine waltzing with you in popcorn hollow, which would be far more enjoyable than anything with James." The other gave a small smile, nodding at Sherlock.

"It was rather nice." John glanced at the door. "Should we go? We still have forty minutes until breakfast, and I don't really want to deal with Anderson in the morning." The trumpeter moved his eyes towards the undisturbed bunk which held Anderson and Lestrade, making a displeased face.

"That's the idea." The violinist nodded before adding. "Yes, we should. Yesterday morning was evidence enough to how draining Anderson's voice is on people's IQ." He stepped out of the cabin, holding the door open for the other, who followed right behind.

"Anderson's not the brightest." John shoved his hand in his pockets tiredly, walking about twenty feet from the cabin to plop down by the bon fire bit, enjoying the silence that came from being all alone with Sherlock this early in the morning as he sat down beside John.

"And he's a nuisance, almost as bad as both Sebastian and James." He glared at the mentioned trombone player as he passed by with instrument in hand.

"Oh please," John added. "Sherlock, don't go starting anything." The trumpet player pleaded, scowling.

"I wasn't planning on it." The violinist grumbled, putting his hands in his pockets. "I was simply stating the obvious."

"Sebastian takes the same amount of shit from James that you do, and even if my eye is sore as hell from him, I don't think it's right to hate him," John looked up and over at Sherlock.

"And him hitting me in the face unprovoked is completely justified by the fact of him being James' second choice," Sherlock looked towards John, "Besides my hatred him isn't affected by his idiotic loyalty to James,"

John sighed, Sherlock was right, and even when he wasn't, he was extremely stubborn. The shorter of the two shivered slightly in the morning weather, enjoying the heat of the fire. The violinist sighed and slumped his posture so he could lean his head on the blond's shoulder.

"I'm tired," He mumbled into John's shoulder.

John blinked, a little taken aback, but leaning his head against the other's with a moment of silence. "Obviously, or else you probably wouldn't be so quiet and… affectionate," The trumpeter sighed softly, mumbling, "We should probably get going,"

With a slight grumbling Sherlock stood up, "Affectionate? No, I just wanted to lean my head on something and your shoulder looked softer than the ground,"

"If you say so," John teased, standing with a groan over how sore he was.

The violinist looked at the blond, "I don't care for needless signs of affection. Why did you make that sound? You can't possibly be sore,"

With a small huff of disapproval John twisted, stretching his back, "Believe it or not, I'm not feeling the hottest, I am rather sore,"

The violinist started to walk towards the cafeteria and let out a scoff, "But all you've been doing is sauntering about a field in time with your music,"

John followed after the other with a sigh, "It's not that easy Sherlock,"

"Right," The curly haired teen's tone was dripping with sarcasm, "I'm sure it's very hard,"

"It's very hard, thank you. Doing it for seven hours a day especially," The trumpet player stated a bit harsher.

The violinist pushed open the cafeteria door, holding it open for the other before letting it swing close. He walked over to one of the counters to pour himself a cup of coffee and grabbed two packets of sugar before he started towards an empty table.

"Well excuse me for believing that seven hours of walking shouldn't make you as sore as you're claiming to be," Sherlock spoke as he sat down.

John had followed suit with a cup of coffee, sighing as he rubbed his hand over his face, he wasn't in the mood for breakfast.

"That's just because the orchestra sits in an air conditioned room all day. You'd die if you had to do what I did for a day," The blond scoffed, sipping his coffee.

"Oh please," The violinist put his hands in front of his face to make an air trumpet, "Look at me, I'm a trumpeter who gets tired just walking around and blowing out of tune notes,"

John's jaw tensed, "Mycroft was right, you are terribly inconsiderate about people. I see why you don't have friends," John grumbled, more to himself than anything, "If it wasn't for him I'd give you a piece of my mind,"

Sherlock froze as he was about to take a sip of his coffee, his green eyes flicked over to John's a look of slight aggravation in them.

"What do you mean if it weren't for him?" The younger teen asked, his voice subdued with anger, letting the other know he was walking in a minefield.

The blond's eyes widened slightly. "Well, he told me…" John froze, choosing his words carefully, "That you didn't usually get close to people, or have friends, so I was very special," John licked his bottom lip, a nervous habit, "And he would appreciate it if I remained… close to you,"

"So you're only choosing to be friends with me because my brother asked you to? And he wonders why I don't care for people," Sherlock set his cup down and pushed himself away from the table, "Tell Mycroft that I don't need his pity,"

"Wait- Sherlock!" John called as he also stood, debating whether to chase after the other or not; and deciding against it. He plopped back down with a sigh, head in his hands as he failed to notice the stray pair of ebony eyes upon their table, smirking with content over the fight between the two.

"Shit," John groaned out with a sigh. He wasn't just friends with Sherlock because of Mycroft, John honestly was friends with Sherlock because he couldn't imagine not doing so. He wouldn't have told Sherlock all those things about England if he didn't unconditionally trust the other. With a disgruntled look he stood, deciding he might as well get to practice early.

"What's wrong Johnny bow? Trouble in paradise?" A familiar sing song voice taunted from behind John.

John stopped and sighed, turning on his heels. "For the second time, bugger off, James," His insult sounded lame, holding no force or an 'or else' at the end.

The saxophone player made an amused face, "Ooh, touched a nerve did I?"

With a deep breath John maintained his composure and continued walking, his voice softer now, "Please James, not now."

Jim moved forwards, putting an arm around the blond and pulled him close.

"I'm going to give you some advice Johnny boy. Sherlock doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about anybody, so don't go fooling yourself into thinking you're something special," The bony haired teen spoke in a hushed tone into the other's ear.

John heard the words in his ear like daggers to his chest, turning his head to look at James with a mixture of emotions. Deciding it would be best to shoulder check James enough to get past him, trying to ignore the sting he felt and grit his teeth, "Thanks, James,"

James stood in place, waggling his fingers in a wave of goodbye to John, "Just thought you should know,"

John had just hustled back to set five and checked his watch It was eleven, only an hour left. Just as Lestrade was about to call everyone to set a loud crack of thunder was heard the darkened sky all, but split opened in a parting path for the rain, causing the band to exclaim and the wood winds to hide their instruments under their jackets. John merely sighed and flicked his hood up. The band director shared a few words with Greg before he called the band to attention, telling them to head to sectionals until lunch and dismissing them.

John entered the lunch room, his clothes soaked despite him trying to avoid getting wet by running. He scanned the room, but couldn't find a familiar curly haired teen. With a sigh he got into the food line and put a hamburger on his plate before going to sit at his own table. The teenager leaned his head on his hands he took small bites of his lunch, not feeling up to eating much.

"Hey, John," Nike greeted him, followed by the rest of their large section, "We were thinking that since it's skit night tonight, we could do one all together as a section, how does that sound?"

John glanced up, straightening up as he gave a few small nods, "Yeah, that sounds fine Mike," He picked at his side salad as the rest of his section pulled up chairs to sit with him, causing the male to smile.

"Awesome," Mike smiled at John, "Since you're section leader we were thinking you can do the introduction,"

The blond nodded, "Sounds like a plan. Hey, I'm a bit busy with my food, could we talk about this during free time? Perhaps we could plan this all out in the main lobby?"

"Of course," Mike chimed and turned to his own food, the whole section conversing around him, causing John to smile a bit more, laughing every now and then. Once he was done, he had excused himself and went to go to practice in the pavilion until sectionals started back up at one.

Sherlock walked out of the orchestra room as free time had started. He was easily able to spot John in the crowd of students. The trumpeter was walking with the rest of his section, he seemed happier, happier than how he's looked this entire week, just joking around with the rest of his friends.

Sherlock didn't want to go back to the cabin so he set off to find a quiet place to spend his time. The violinist contented himself with the swinging bench in front of the main lobby, not many people walked by there so he should be left alone, considering how the trumpets had already situated themselves inside the lobby.

The silence lasted for thirty blissful minutes before Sherlock felt the weight shift on the swing, indicating he had company. Without opening his eyes he spoke in an annoyed tone of voice.

"Hello James, go away."

"Come on Sherly, don't be so cruel. Don't you have a heart?" Jim settled himself on the bench, uncomfortably close to Sherlock.

Sherlock tried to shrug away from the male, raising an eyebrow, "You made me fully aware I don't have one,"

"Oh, we both know that's not quite true," James scooted closer to Sherlock who was now trapped by the arm of the bench.

Sherlock was half tempted to stand up, but instead gave the other an unamused look.

"What do you want?"

Without vocally answering Sherlock James leaned forward even more and forcibly pressed his lips against the others. Jim shifted his body so that he was gripping the arm of the bench in one hand and the back of it in the other, making it so that the taller teen didn't have any way to escape. Sherlock's eyes widened and he gripped James' shirt collar in both hands, though before he could pull away he let the other's lips linger for a moment, slightly succumbing to the effects that were caused by the natural chemical reactions that came with a kiss.

John had finished planning the skit and it was quite a pick me up, he actually was going to apologize to Sherlock for earlier. The trumpet player was to be lead in a commercial for bipolar band kids, where he had to read nervously from a script before getting upset and storming off the stage, which was really just a small cleared area in the pavilion. It made him joyful to be part of something.

The blond had bid his section adieu and left his hood up due to the small drizzle of rain, and he walked out the front door. What he saw made the pain in his chest come back, twice as worse. He was terribly wrong to trust Sherlock Holmes, who was now snogging with James Moriarty on the bench.

For lack of anything better to do, John cleared his throat.

Out of reflex Sherlock pushed James away from him. He turned his head to look at who had interrupted them, not that he didn't already know who it was.

"John…: Sherlock started, but he didn't say anything else. Why should he? He and John weren't friends anymore, and even then there was no reason for him to justify who he kissed.

"I told you earlier Johnny boy, you shouldn't have fooled yourself," James spoke up from his spot on the bench, a content look on his face.

John felt his throat tighten, automatically stopping anything he would have said, "I'm going to-" John lightly pointed towards the pavilion, swallowing hard as he walked fast down the trail leading to the empty pavilion, hands in his pockets. He didn't want to go to the pavilion, but he didn't want to go to the cabin. God, he was so stupid to trust someone.

Sherlock watched as John walked away, why did he have the urge to go after him and apologize? There was no need for him to do so, all it was was a simple kiss. It released dopamine and lowered his cortisol levels, a natural chemical reaction that was bound to help his mood.

Sherlock looked over to James, his face beginning to show how upset he was becoming, "You planned this didn't you?"

The saxophone player flashed an innocent smile, "How was I supposed to know that John was going to come out that door?" He shrugged and his voice became a slight bit more serious, "And more importantly, how was I supposed to know that you'd kiss me back?"

Sherlock's face went from angered to furious, "I did not kiss you back. I let you kiss me because I was in shock and it was a simple human reaction. Why would I kiss back someone as vile as you?" The violinist fumed, now standing a good five feet away from the swing, and James.

James stood from the bench, walking towards Sherlock and circling behind him. He stood on his tip toes and clasped his hands over the other's shoulders.

Despite them being alone James kept his voice low, mock hurt laced in it, "Now don't say that Sherly, you might hurt my feelings,"

Sherlock pulled away with a scoff and a look of genuine distaste. "Why haven't you lost interest after all this time, James? What about me interests you so much?" He spoke in more of a demand, turning to face the smirking male.

"Come now Sherly, you can't be that oblivious," James' smirk falling, his face becoming grace, "I've told you this once already Sherlock, I love you, and I didn't like it too much when you left me,"

Sherlock exhaled through his nose and gave James a serious look, quieting himself as he took a step closer to the other and keeping his serious composure, "I told you James, that wasn't love,"

"Or are you just saying that to avoid getting hurt? Loads of people do that, but I never thought you were the type to run away," James slid his hands into his pockets and took a small step towards the other.

Sherlock eyed James, not moving from his spot, "I didn't run away from anything, but when our relationship became nothing, but sex I doubt there was any emotion there. It was completely physical,"  
With a pitiful look James gave his usual halfhearted "oh, please," look as he looked up slightly to the other, "I wasn't complaining, letting you win all those chess matches. I knew everything was too good to be true," James gave a melodramatic sigh, closing his eyes to look down, a sarcastic kicked puppy look on his face.

Sherlock scrunched his face up in disgust, "Why would you let me win all those times then? You seemed to enjoy yourself quite a bit that last time," The violinist cringed at the memory, "Not that the feeling was mutual,"

James gave an innocent smile, looking back up to the other, "I let you win because as much as I liked being in control that last time, you're far better at it than I." The male cooed as he walked past Sherlock, taking a seat on the bench.

The taller teen let out a sigh and sat himself next to James, "So, what is it you want? I'm starting to find your plans rather tedious,"

"Once again, it's obvious Sherlock," James leaned over, now talking in a hushed tone in Sherlock's ear, "You,"

At this point Sherlock was exasperated, standing and shaking his head, damp curls lying against his forehead. He paused in his actions before cocking his head up slightly to look at James.

"Perhaps…" The violinist took a deep breath before continuing, "We could… work something out,"

James' eyes lit up at the proposition, though he cocked his head, "Of what sorts?"

"What would everybody else call it? We could… try again, but slowly," Sherlock spoke slowly, seating himself once more.

Jim leaned over, brushing his lips over the other's cheek though Sherlock did nothing. "I'm doing this because I'm sick of watching you one sidedly obsess over me, don't think too much of it," Sherlock's face still looked rather upset.

John didn't know exactly where to go, he could feel the emotion well up inside, threatening to spill out. He was upset at himself more than anything, why did he allow himself to get that emotional over a kiss, this one especially. Sherlock and him were friends, nothing more, if he wanted to go back to James who was John of all people to protest?

John hadn't realized, but he angrily rushed himself pretty far down one of the trails when it'd started raining even harder than before, the blond not even caring to pull his hood back up. He was too caught up in his emotions. He didn't even realized he turned a corner on the trail rather fast until he'd felt himself lose his footing in the mud as he caught a smaller frame in his arms.

"I'm so sorry," Sarah half laughed as she stood herself once more, looking up slightly at John, her mouth curling into a smile, "John? Hey, it's been forever," She stated casually, John giving a shocked nod while she noticed his swollen eyes, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," John managed in a rather hoarse voice, causing the female who just so happened to be a tenor and one of John's summer romances, frowned.

"You're going to get yourself sick John," She grabbed his arm and tugged John along, considering he was too emotionally distraught to fight against the grip. He sighed, hanging his head down.

Sarah had led John towards the pavilion, through the orchestra room, and onto an almost hidden balcony. She let go of John's arm once under the over hand and looked at him worriedly.

"Wait here, I'll be right back," The girl rushed off, probably to get a towel or a dry jacket.

John leaned against the walk, sliding down to the ground. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as he let out a shaky breath.

"I- um… brought you a towel and some hot coco…" Sarah's voice came from above him.

The blond looked up and saw her offering the two items, he accepted them, draping the towels on his shoulders and wrapping his cold fingers around the warm travel cup.

"So, what's bothering you John? You're normally not like this…" The girl asked, crouching down to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

John took a deep breath, pondering how to explain what was wrong.

"What do you do when… you're…" He took a deep breath, "In love with someone, but they don't feel the same way?"

"So, what you did to me?" The tenor asked with a surprising lack of bitterness in her voice.

John pinched the bridge of his nose and took another long breath, "Sarah, I'm sorry," He looked up at the girl, lips in a fine line, "You just found me at a bad time, I-" The girl cut him off with a laugh, waving him off.

"You're fine, John," She reassured, laying down her own towel to sit on, "So, what exactly is going on?" She offered him a consoling glance.

"I… saw this guy I like kissing his ex, and it hurt. It hurt so much." He stopped, looking down into his cup, "And I realized I felt for him- more than a friend," John rubbed his free hand over his face, careful not to hit his eye, "I don't know what to do,"

"Well… what I did with you was just try to move on. Eventually you get over it I guess," Sarah gave him a small smile, "I'm sorry, I'm probably not helping much."

John gave a small laugh, shaking his head, "I don't know, Sarah, I don't exactly want to let this go," The trumpet player sighed and looked across to the other, "He's arrogant, stubborn, and over all a handful. So, I can't understand what I like about the bloke, I mean, I've never even liked blokes!" John exclaimed, throwing his hands up in defeat.

"Well, maybe you have," Sarah suggested, "It might explain why you were so unhappy with me… and all those other girls," The girl looked to the ground, not quite sure how what she said would be taken.

John was silent for a moment, his eyes growing slightly wide. His voice came out in a slight panic, "Bloody Hell, Sarah, am I gay!?"

The girl's eyes widened, taken aback by the blunt question, "I-I guess that's a possibility John,"

"Holy shit," John ran a hand through his short blond hair, leaning his head back against the wall. "I need to go," He said quickly, snapping into reality and once again forcing the concrete weighing down his chest. He set his cup down and gave Sarah a quick peck on the cheek before running off, leaving the confused tenor alone on the balcony.

Sherlock had miraculously managed to pull himself away from James. He had gotten to the cabin and put on a jacket that he had brought along just in case. He slid his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked the dirt path that winded away from the camp and deeper and deeper into the woods.

While his physical body was present, his mind wasn't. He was preoccupied in his mind palace, thinking about the week so far. Why did it seem that John got so upset when he saw James and Sherlock together? To any other person John would just appear to be an awkward interruption, but Sherlock was able to see that there was more to it than that when the blond had excused himself. John had also, more than likely, said something to James about his broken bow that caused Sebastian to hit him.

The violinist leaned his head against a tree, why was this so frustrating? John was just another student in this world of boring people. Yet he was also the first to show him kindness. John would also get upset on Sherlock's behalf, much like a-

"Oh," Sherlock stood up straight, "Oh, stupid, stupid," He scolded himself before he started to walk back in the direction he came, "Why hadn't I noticed this before?"

The curly haired teen had closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. It was all there, more than enough to show that John felt for him though Sherlock had been blissfully ignorant about the matter. With motivation in his step, Sherlock headed back to the pavilion, stopping mid stride and bringing his hands up to steeple his hands over the half of his face.

He couldn't just run to John and exclaim over their mutual feelings for each other and apologize for what he'd done, thought he hadn't really done anything except be forcibly kissed by someone he more than despised, that's be wrong and John would probably punch Sherlock in the face and run off to one of the girls in the band for comfort. With a tiring groan Sherlock rolled his head back. James would be a problem, a big problem. He had never really planned for him and James to have anything, and the only reason he accepted the offer was to show just that to the saxophone player, that they were nothing. But now that he could force himself into realization of what might just be a mutual affection with John, what could he do to excel his plan with James, but make John aware? Even with the mind of a genius, he'd need time to figure this out.

John wasn't feeling up to sitting with anybody at dinner. He had filled up his plate with that night's dinner, macaroni and cheese, and sat himself down at an empty table. He leaned his head on his hand as he pushed his food around on his plate. He knew he ought to eat, but he didn't feel up to it.

He lifted his head up when he heard the door open up to reveal two late students. Sherlock and James who were standing a bit too close for John's liking. The blond watched as a rather angry Sebastian stood from his table and approached the two, a livid look in his eye. From where he was sitting, John couldn't hear anything that they were saying, but from the looks of it Sherlock had said some condescending comment about Sebastian, which only angered the trombone player more, and then Sebastian forcibly pulled James out of the Cafeteria. The trumpeter watched as the violinist sighed and made his way down the food line, taking very little. Once Sherlock was out of the food line he looked around, there was nowhere for him to sit, except at the table with John.

"Where's your new boyfriend?" John asked, trying to sound casual, but a slight pang of bitterness slipped into his voice as Sherlock had sat down.

"Off, more than likely explaining things to Sebastian, so arguing with him" The violinist spoke, eying his food, pushing it around his plate.

"Oh," John said, taking a bite of his food, "I'm glad you two worked things out,"

Sherlock looked up to John, a slight look of surprise in his eyes, "Thank you… I suppose,"

The blond nodded, a small sad smile on his face.

The rest of lunch went by mostly silent. John playing on his phone and half eating his food. He didn't like the silence, but really, what was there to say? 'Oh hey, I'm glad you got back together with your psychotic ex-boyfriend who's obsessive and sex addicted, I hope you two are happy,'? Yes, because that would make things so much better. So, instead, he sighed and stood, grabbing his plate and cup of coffee, both severely untouched, and gave Sherlock a glance, letting their eyes meet for a moment before he pushed his chair in with his knee and turning away to leave the cafeteria, heading to the cabin to retrieve his music.

James groaned a he felt the iron clamp of a grip on his arm, knowing fully well it was Sebastian who was doing it. Their walk to the cabin was silent, except the scuffing and slipping of their rushed shoes. James was basically being dragged, a cocky half smirk painted onto his face with a devilish look to match. Once he was finally thrown into the cabin the black haired male turned slowly to see Sebastian, exasperated and worn out, but he could see fire in the blond's eyes. Sebastian stood for a moment, giving a small senseless nods James could see the other's face fall from humored, to amused, slowly down the ladder of emotion and breaking each rung on his way down before falling into a tortured and hurt expression.

"What the fuck James?" Was all the trombone player could say, throwing his hand up, the other on his hip.

"What, Seb? What did you honestly expect?" James arched the curvature of his eyebrows even further, hands in his pockets as he looked up at the other.

"I'm not sure any more! Hell, James, you're like a fucking child! You're happy with what you have, you love what you have, until something better comes around. You're sick," Sebastian tensed his jaw, eyes cold as they remained fixated on the shorter of the two.

James remained silent for a moment, his face going from straight to a grin, releasing a chuckle. "Poor little Sebastian," he started, his face growing harder as well as his body, urging himself to step towards the other, "You thought that was love? That was pity," he added the last part quickly, causing something in Sebastian to snap and his whole body to lose its tension.

"I know I wasn't the best James," He started, looking dead into the other's eyes, "But if you have the audacity to sit here and think I'll let you treat me like that shit bag treated you, you're wrong," With that Sebastian turned to walk out, "Oh, and when he breaks the heart you don't have, find a new play toy, because I'm done," With that the cabin door slammed shut, leaving James speechless. The black haired male stood there for a moment, looking down to his feet. Sebastian was merely a pawn, right? Losing him doesn't affect his game. It doesn't hurt when you lose a mere pawn.

Right?

"Okay guys, we're packing up early tonight. We can't practice this when you all keep slipping and falling," Greg called out to the band after being told to do so by Mycroft, "Pack up your instruments and meet up in the pavilion."

A sigh of relief swept across the band after hearing this news, most of the students were covered in mud from slipping in the wet grass that was caused by the earlier rain. John had the oh so very fortunate look of stepping into one of the small holes on the field and tripping into the mud. The blond's whole body had traces of mud on it, the trumpeter was ready for skit night to be over so he could just shower and go to sleep.

"What's wrong Johnny boy? Trip and fall in the mud?" A taunting voice called from behind him.

John turned around to see James walking towards the trumpeter with a surprising lack of mud on him. The blond quickly turned back around and crouched in front of his trumpet case, trying to wipe his instrument off with his dirty shirt, only succeeding in wiping mud onto the bell of his trumpet. With a huff of frustration he kept on wiping down his instrument, getting it dirtier and dirtier.

"No wonder you hung around Sherly so much Johnny boy, without him you're nothing, but an everyday idiot," The saxophone spoke from behind John, his own instrument already put away in its case, "No wonder he became bored with you and left,"

John gave up on wiping his trumpet and threw it down into his case, slamming it shut. He gripped the handle of his case with a death grip to keep his hands from shaking. He bowed his head towards the ground, turning it ever so slightly over his shoulder, "James, please, just leave me alone," A warm tear streaking the trumpeter's cheek.

James' eyes widened slightly, his free hand shoved in his pocket. Why should he torture something so far beneath him? It'd be like a child torturing an ant. It was fun. Though with a sigh, James shook his head, tsk-ing. He looked down at the other. "Come on John, don't tell me that actually hurt you. Sherlock never cared," He stressed the never like venom to a blood stream or an empty syringe to a jugular.

John stood and walked away from the other, back towards camp. "Fuck you James," he gritted through closed teeth.

The saxophone player let out an amused chuckle, "I'm sorry Johnny boy, but that job's already taken,"

John felt an arm wrap around his shoulders and pull him close, away from James.

"Why don't you just leave him alone James?" The deep voice of Sebastian rumbled from the chest the trumpeter was currently pressed against.

The saxophone's amused face dropped to a glare before pushing past the two, "Fine, I was getting bored anyway,"

"Um… thanks for the help Sebastian…" John spoke as he awkwardly pulled himself away from the taller male.

Sebastian gave a small smirk, halfheartedly looking down at John as he hoisted the large case onto his shoulder, "Anything I it means putting James in his place,"

John gave a small smile back, taking a small clean part on his sleeve to wipe over his eyes, his left eye still slightly swollen. "He just knows exactly what buttons to push," The trumpet player gave a sigh, heaving his instrument up the hill. It was only Wednesday and he was worn out.

"Do you want me to get that for you?" Sebastian asked when he saw how tired the smaller blond was.

"Hm? Oh, no, I'm fine. Thanks though," John switched his case to his other hand.

A small moment of silence settled between the two before the trombone player broke it, "I'm sorry about your eye,"

The trumpeter let out a soft chuckle, "It's fine, I'm sorry about what I said,"

"Why? Everything that you said about James was true," Sebastian said as he set his case down on one of the back tables of the pavilion.

"Still, I knew it would upset you two. I guess I deserved the black eye," John placed his case down on the table beside Sebastian's and plopped down on the bench, physically and emotionally exhausted. Just as the trumpet player had become adjusted to the silence two girls came up from his section, smiles on their faces.

"John, we're going fourth so when the third skit starts will you come back to the orchestra room to help the rest of us get ready for it?" One of the girls pointed to a room in the front of the pavilion, right behind where they would be performing.

"I guess I can do that," The blond gave a small smile and girls when off to, as he assumed, inform the rest of the section of their plans.

"You're popular," Sebastian laughed out, making John remember he was there.

"You could say that," John ran his hands through his hair.

The blond watched as the pavilion started to fill up more when the orchestra students were dismissed from their rehearsals. His heart sank a little bit deeper when he saw James approach Sherlock, immediately slipping under his arm and holding onto his hand.

A whistle sounded across the pavilion which silenced all of the students.

"Okay everybody, since we're all here now we might as well start skit night," Greg announced from the front where everybody was to perform their skit.

John smiled slightly, trying to put on an act of his own to seem alright. He looked over at Sebastian, who was subconsciously picking at the wood on the table. John lightly pushed his hand against the other's as a "stop that", causing Sebastian to stop and look to John with a scowl. Before any conversation could be started, Greg announced the first skit, causing the whole crowd to silence themselves as the act begun. It was nothing special, it was the flute section with a few saxophones doing a skit about "white girls", causing a few laughs and what not. By the second skit, "Band Camp Romance," John had zoned out. It wasn't until Mike walked by and nudged him on the start of the third skit that John jumped from the table and walked with his section, behind the current skit, and into the orchestra room.

Soon enough it was their turn, and their section was sitting in a circle, mimicking a support group. John was the first to stand, but before he did he got a nice long glance of Sherlock sitting like a slightly slumped tree and James sniggling up next to the violinist, a stray hand pressed tentatively against Sherlock's thigh, causing the man's face to twitch in discomfort. John forced himself to pry his eyes away from the duo and back to the paper in his hand, swallowing the lump in his throat and beginning to speak.

"My name's John," His voice was soft and nervous, like it was supposed to be, but he wasn't positive if it was acting or not.

"Hi John," chimed the rest of the trumpets.

"I suffer from extreme bi-polar band kid syndrome," He took a scripted deep breath, but could feel himself actually begin to choke up, "Screw this," He grumbled and dropped the script, choking back what would be the equivalent of a scream and rushed back to the orchestra room. Sherlock raised his eyebrow, noticing the true emotion in the scene as John stormed off. He forced himself away from James' arms, standing and shooting the other a scowl as James tried to follow.

"No, stay here," He spoke sternly, yet quietly as the trumpet skit continued smoothly.

The saxophone player looked hurt, but sat back down anyway, crossing his arms childishly. Sherlock walked off into the orchestra room, ignoring the protests of the people in there preparing for their skit. In the back of the room he spotted John leaning on the door frame that lead to the back balcony, head bowed.

Sherlock took a silent deep breath, he grabbed John by his forearm and pushed him out of the door, twisting the smaller male sideways so his back was pressed against the wall besides the door frame, out of sight from everyone else. Their chests were pressed together, John's head angled upwards as Sherlock's was down, their noses brushed side by side. Sherlock hesitated for a moment and adjusted his hands on the other's shoulder and held him against the wall. Hot panicked breaths spilled out over Sherlock's mouth, pooling between the two before Sherlock quickly leaned forward, pressing their lips together roughly, causing John's eyes to swell and widen before closing slowly. His once flailing arms snaking their way around the other's shoulders.

The kiss broke and they spent a few moments like that, lips barely hovering over the other's, limbs tangled and breath quick before one of John's and slipped to Sherlock's cheek, pulling the violinist into a softer, longer, and sweeter kiss, the dull noise of skit night behind them.

John pulled back from the kiss, still only centimeters from the other, "So you expect just because you kissed me that everything is supposed to be alright now?"

Sherlock let out a small breath, "That was the original plan, yes, but knowing you, I know it's not going to be that simple,"

The blond bit his lip in thought before asking, "What about James?"

"What about us? I only accepted his offer to prove to him that there was nothing left between us," The violinist dipped his head closer to John's, "Isn't that proof enough?"

"I think you could do better," John smirked slightly, leaning up to meet Sherlock with a small kiss.

"Sine," Sherlock breathed out after he lightly kissed back. The taller male pulled back, fixing the collar of his button up, "Come with me then," he extended a hand to the smaller male who took it with a smile.

The blond took the other's hand and let himself get lead off, out of the orchestra room, and into the forest.

"Where are we going?" The blond asked, truing to watch his step as the path grew darker.

"You trust me don't you?" Sherlock asked as he continued down the winding path, taking extra care not to trop or step in a hazard hole.

"Of course I do, but it's just that it's pretty dark out here," John chuckled softly.

"Don't worry, we should get there soon," Sherlock slowed his steps as they arrived in a small clearing, "What did I say?" the teller male lead the other to one of the logs on the ground and sat down.

"Okay, but why come here?" The blond asked as he sat next to the other.

"Privacy, people are distracted by skit night and when it's done they'll all go back to their cabins, no one will come here," Sherlock explained as he took out his phone, his face illuminated by the dim light before he pressed a button, choosing a song that started to play quietly.

The trumpeter listened to the tune, expecting to hear some refined classical music, but was surprised when he had recognized it, "The Used? I didn't know you liked this kind of music."

"I don't, sometime during the school year Irene had taken my phone and downloaded songs that she liked, I've never gotten around to getting rid of them," Sherlock explained, "I figured you would like it though,"

John smiled, sliding down so his head was laying in Sherlock's lap, "I do," He looked up at the other, barely able to see him through the darkness which was only interrupted by small patches of dim moonlight.

John gave up on trying to see the other, closing his eyes as he felt Sherlock lightly thread his fingers through John's short hair.

"So you and James aren't… together?" John asked, his nose scrunching.

"Technically we are, but I'll take care of that soon," Sherlock said softly, lightly tracing his fingers over the outline of the other's face, "You know what I think of Jim, I'd never let that actually start again. Like I said before, it was all to prove a point," John chuckled at the thought, taking Sherlock's hand in his.

"Should I trust you?" he asked, eyes remaining closed.

"It'd be preferable," The curly haired teen answered the other, "Though I can understand if you don't," He gave the blond's hand a light squeeze.

John squeezed back and took in a deep breath, opening his eyes and remained silent for a moment. "Do you trust me?" he asked softly, as I he was sharing a secret, "I mean, in the best way possibly for you to trust people, considering your lack of emotions and all that," The blond gave a small smile.

The younger teen paused, taking a moment to contemplate the thought, "I suppose that I do, more so than anyone that I know currently,"

"Then you should trust me when I say that I didn't only become friends with you because of Mycroft, and that I was about to knock you on your bloody ass when I saw you and James kiss," He gave a half smile and leaned up, lightly brushing his lips against Sherlock's ear, "And that you're an arrogant jack ass who may know everyone and everything, but you can't see the obvious when you're hurting someone," John settled for sitting up, face buried in Sherlock's neck, "I still don't know if I should put you in a coffin or kiss you until you put yourself in one,"

Sherlock put a hand on John's lower back, slowly snaking it forward until it was resting comfortably on his hip, "Well, the latter sounds more enjoyable than the former,"

John gave a half smile and snaked a hand to the back of Sherlock's neck to pull him into a kiss, molding his lips against the other's with a content hum.

Sherlock leaned into the kiss a bit more, the soft music from his phone becoming the only noise in Sherlock and John's world as the kiss became a bit more heated, causing John to back away, lips still centimeters from the other's as they breathed soft, shallow breaths which became calmer by the moment. John clicked Sherlock's phone and saw the time, 11:17. He leaned his forehead against the younger teens, "Should we head back?"

"We probably should, you still need a shower, you're absolutely filthy," Sherlock commented, bringing a hand up and lightly tugging on John's mud stained shirt, "But the real question is, do we want to? It is rather nice to be here on our own,"

John looked down at himself and scrunched his nose at the state of himself, before once again burying his face in Sherlock's neck, causing the violinist to stain his neck slightly, giving John more room before laying his head against the blond's/

"I don't really want to go back, but we should. I wouldn't exactly want to deal with James if he's still up, and I doubt you do either," John's words were soft in Sherlock's ears, his arms lightly wrapped around the other.

"Who would ever want to deal with James? He's a nuisance and a pest," Sherlock replied, his serious tone interrupted when he saw John yawn, a chuckle escaping from his lips, "You're in no state to walk back in the dark, you'll kill yourself," The violinist pocketed his phone before slipping his free hand under John's knees and standing, picking him up in the process.

Before John could protest he found himself being lifted, giving a groan, "What the hell Sherlock, I'm not the smallest person. You're going to drop me or trip," The blond held his arms in a death grip around Sherlock's neck, scowling as the violinist smirked.

"John, you must have faith in me. I wouldn't have picked you up f I didn't believe I could properly carry you," The violinist told the other as he started to walk back up the path, "Besides if we fall, we'd be falling together,"

With a small laugh, John placed his lips below Sherlock's ear, yawning softly before he spoke, "That's oddly…" The male paused for a moment, looking for the right words, "Sweet,"

Sherlock scoffed, tightening his grip on John as he weaved slowly through the branches on the trail, "Must you use that of all words to describe me?"

John merely smiled against the skin of Sherlock's neck.

"I'm anything, but sweet," Sherlock added as he continued up the path, seeing their cabin as the trees started to thin out more.

John shook his head and mumbled, "You can put me down now. I can make it Sherlock,"

"You sure? You seem awfully tired," Sherlock spoke as he let the other down, "I don't want you to get hurt any further,"

John stood, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's back and leaning up on his toes, mumbling, "Oh, hush, you," John pulled Sherlock into another kiss, tangling his fingers in the other's hair, pulling back with a tired smile, "I'm fine now,"

"Fine, fine, I trust you," He smirked down to the other after he pulled away from the kiss. The violinist opened the door to their cabin, "After you,"

The blond followed close after, smiling as he went into their cabin and shared small giggles. John grabbed his clothes and looked up to Sherlock, "Are you coming with?"

"Obviously, I need to get a shower in as well," The violinist spoke as he grabbed his oen clothes and shower bag.

With a sirk John stood with his back against the cabin door, shower back and clothes in hand as he waited for the other. Sherlock started out the door towards the showers with John, a content look on his face.

The two showered in silence, neither of them bothering to make small talk. Once out and dressed, the two walked back into the cabin, the room dark, seeing as how the rest of their cabin mates had already gone to bed. The blond started to try to climb up to his bunk, but in the far he kept stumbling.

"You're going to end up killing yourself," Sherlock whispered to the other before grabbing his wrist and pulling John into his own bunk, "Just sleep in my bed with me,"

John was perfectly fine trying to get into his bed before he was pulled down next to Sherlock. Feeling arms wrap around him, John gave a small smile as he used Sherlock's chest as a pillow. "You're oh, so persuading," The trumpet player said with a small chuckle.

"When I want to be I can be very persuading," Sherlock mumbled into the other's hair.

"I like it," John yawned, looking up at the other so their noses were touching, John giving a small smile as Sherlock did his Signature half smirk.

"Good," The violinist bent down to give the other a peck on the forehead.

John contently closed his eyes, getting himself comfortable against the other male. He knew tomorrow would be a wakeup call for the both of them, they're overabundance of affection would have to stop and things would need to be sorted out. But now he curled up against Sherlock as they whispered goodnight, silently dozing off.

What the two had failed to notice, however, was the back haired male glaring from the opposite bunk.


End file.
